


The English Millionaire Investigator

by Coconutice22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU twist to It's a Terrible Life, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Investigator Crowley, M/M, Not Beta Read, Stepford Businessman Dean Smith, There's no supernatual beings in this fic, a mystery pairing I will not reveal..., mentions of dead pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12403959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coconutice22/pseuds/Coconutice22
Summary: Crowley had been working as a private detective for a few years when Dean Smith's husband turns up and wants Crowley to find out who Dean is cheating on him with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no supernatural beings in this fic. Basically AU from before the first guy kills himself in that episode. 
> 
> The fic is nearly completely written. It shouldn't be more than three chapters in all, I've just got to tidy things up, and, um, an ending to write. I've not 100% decided on the specifics yet.

The ceiling fan had a certain creak to it that was comforting at this stage. Crowley could shut his eyes, lean back on his squeaky desk chair and drift off happily to the repetitive _thunk, thunk, thunk._ That was about the only comfort in the otherwise too humid and hot office. Even for North Carolina, the tail end of the Spring was hot enough to mention. He’d long ago taken off his suit jacket and tie. Sweat crept down over his ever-receding hairline and down his face. In his half-conscious state he could feel the droplets roll down, adding to the light sheen of sweat building on his chest, caught up in his chest hair.

Work was slow. Slow as a sloth trying to make its way through drying molasses on two broken limbs. He was contemplating another nap, but at 2 pm it would already be his second of the day, and it was still only Monday. _Sigh_.

Life as a private investigator used to involve a lot of hitting the pavement hard, walking for miles, waiting in his car to spy on someone from afar. But Facebook and the other beautiful tools the Silicon Valley tech geeks had developed made his job too easy. Normally he could find most of what was needed by going through their social media for a couple of hours. Anything harder than that, Crowley had people to help hack iMessage, tap phone lines. There was really very little reason to ever leave the office.

The office was decorated sparsely and with ugly, dark-brown furniture he’d bought second hand. He’d attempted to inject a feel of homeliness by buying a plant at one point, a plant he had been watching die the last week. He was now curious to see how long it would take to die if he just stopped caring about it. It turned out the plant was a tough little fucker and was somehow staying alive.

_Maybe a post-lunch nap is a good idea._

Crowley shrugged to himself and shifted to kick his feet up onto his heavy desk. The chair squeaked with the movement, another familiar noise. Everything in the office seemed to squeak a little and Crowley knew each tone intimately.

He leaned back on his chair and shut his eyes. Just as he was drifting off, his peace was interrupted by a knock at his door.

 _Damn it_.

He considered just ignoring it and going on with his nap, but he had a dog at home that needed treats and, well, bills had to be paid. One good job and he would even be able to cover the rent he owed still for the previous month. Gone were the days when he had money to burn and could ignore a request for _yet another_ insurance investigation, or “I think he’s cheating on me!”

With a huff Crowley got out of his chair. He thought briefly about putting on his tie and jacket but shrugged and decided against it. Distraught parents and scorned lovers were usually not so interested in the details of his person.

Casting an eye around his office for anything that might be inappropriate to leave lying out for a potential customer to see, Crowley opened the door.

“You’re Crowley, I presume?”

“The one and only. Why don’t you come in and tell me why you’re here?” Crowley stood to the side and allowed the man to walk in. He had on a long black coat and walked with a cane that thudded dimly on the fading carpet. His hair was longer than most men and slicked back in a style that struck Crowley as fairly old fashioned. His ears were large, his ears and nose proportionally large for his long, tired-looking face.

 _Shiny shoes_ whispered a voice inside Crowley’s head. _He has money_.

The stranger sat down at the cheap, purposefully uncomfortable chair across from Crowley’s desk. He considered asking if the guy wanted him to take his coat, but he looked quite calm and put together despite the warmth of the tiny room.

_Good. Maybe he’ll leave quicker if he’s hot._

“How can I help you?” Crowley slid back into his chair.

Shiny Shoes looked at briefly the exposed chest hair peeking out of Crowley’s slightly unbuttoned shirt with a frown. Crowley resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“My partner…”

Crowley tried not to sigh. Of course, it was always cheating spouses. Especially with the rich, old guys.

“He’s trying to divorce me.”

 _He? That’s new_.

“You suspect he’s cheating?” It was always cheating.

The other man cleared his throat. “I do, sadly.” His eyes dropped to his lap.

Crowley was already starting to feel bored.

“And if he _is_ cheating, well, the divorce bill would be… quite reduced.”

 _Huh_. _Well that makes things easier_. Often spurned spouses would get angry and he’d been punched more than once when presenting the client with information confirming their suspicions. But it seemed this man was willing to be practical about it.

“So you want me to find out if he’s seeing someone, get the dish? I can do that. There’s a standard per-day rate on each case and then any additional expenses on top, but those I will clear with you should we reach that stage. Shouldn’t take longer than a few days with this sort of thing.”

In his mind Crowley was already trying to figure out what sort of bogus add-ons this guy might suck up. It might even be enough to buy his poor Juliet one of the memory foam dog beds he’d spotted.

“I came to you as I hear you are discrete, the money side of things does not worry me.” He twisted his cane around in his hands, rings on his fingers catching the light. “But there _must_ be discretion. If Dean was to find out I was looking into him, he would not take it very well.”

“And you’re prepared for the outcome if I _do_ find something, Mr…?”

“Stephen, Stephen Arawn.” The man looked down at his feet, then out to the side through the grime-dimmed windows. He ignored the first question.

In that moment Crowley could tell that for all his talk of lowering the divorce bill, his new client was simultaneously hoping Crowley _wouldn’t_ find something and _would_ find something.

“There’s some information I’m going to require on your husband–”

Mr. Arawn pulled a memory stick from out of his inner coat pocket and placed it on the desk.

“I was advised you’d require certain things. I’ve put as much as I know about Dean on here – including passwords to some email accounts we share.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You _share_ accounts?”

“We’ve had no secrets from each other, Mr. Crowley. Or so, I had always assumed.” He let out a weary sigh. “I assure you it came as quite a shock when he moved out one day and then I find out he’s filing for a petition for divorce. But he managed to organize a new apartment for himself and a new job right under my nose, now I wish to know what else was happening." Mr. Arawn sniffed disdainfully. “If it is going to be too _difficult_ for you, I can take my business elsewhere.”

Crowley sat back in his seat ( _squeak_ ) and threaded his fingers to rest his arms against his torso. Days gone by he would have offered his new client a small glass of something amber and delicious at a juncture like this, to calm the man.

“I’m fully capable of getting to the bottom of things. Which you must know or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m here because I was informed you’ve got methods that make you almost undetectable and that you’d do _anything_ to ensure you carry out the job to the fullest extent possible.”

Crowley eased into a smug smile. “I do love it when my reputation proceeds me.”

“I know a little something of your past as well. It was rather unfortunate when your mother was imprisoned.”

He tried not to show his surprise that his new client knew this. That had been a lifetime and another name ago, after all. Maybe it was the best idea if did just turn this guy away. But the shiny shoes never lied.

“It was nothing she didn’t deserve, I assure you.”

“I’m not here to judge, I’m here for results. Look into my husband and find _something_ for me. I want to know what has been going on with him in the last few weeks.”

_Now’s time for the up sale._

“That’s a little more than ‘find out if he’s cheating’.”

“I already told you: money is not a problem.”

“$3000 up front, for the first three days, that’s my standard rate.” It wasn’t. They both knew it wasn’t, but this was a test of exactly how much Mr. Arawn wanted his help.

“Seems very reasonable.”

 _Damn, should have started higher_ , Crowley thought. _Juliet could do with a new diamond-studded collar_.

Crowley was about to ask about setting up a wire transfer when he was presented with a stack of bills, wrapped up in an official bank-issued way.

“Will all payments be made in cash?”

Mr. Arawn narrowed his eyes. “Is this where you tell me there’s an additional _cash only_ payment? Perhaps to cover the trouble of you having to take it down to the bank yourself?”

There was some temptation in that, however, Crowley sensed it was for the best if he let the other man depart as quickly as possible before things soured beyond repair.

The heat in the office had only gotten more uncomfortable with two people sitting in there. Mr. Arawn was still dressed in his long-black coat and yet was not sweating even slightly, nor did he look uncomfortable at all. It was as if the warmth did not touch him.

“Of course not, I was just curious.” He flashed a brief, insincere smile. “I’ll spend Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday looking into Dean and send you my first on Friday. If you’d like me to extend my work beyond that, we can discuss long-term monitoring options.”

Rising slowly from his seat with the support of his cane. Mr. Arawn in that moment managed to look older than Crowley had been assuming he was.

“You’ll think me a doddering old man after looking at that,” he gestured to the memory stick. “But I love him very much. Our love started in a strange place, in an unconventional way, and yet, it grew into this thing of beauty I have held very dear to me.”

“I’m sure you do,” Crowley agreed lightly, not even slightly believing it.

Love was in Crowley’s opinion a weed. Growing in places no one wanted it to be, springing up without permission. Sometimes strangling and sapping resources from surrounding plants that you wanted to grow well. You could only kill it ultimately with heavy chemical dosing. Or fire. Fire worked too.

 _Squeak_ went Crowley’s chair as he stood up to escort his latest client out. They shook hands, both gazing deep into the others’ eyes, assessing.

Mr. Arawn’s hand was startlingly cold and dry in Crowley’s own clammy palm.

“I look forward to hearing from you on Friday.”

“I’ll keep you updated.”

Crowley let out a huff of breathe when the door was shut. He locked it and went back to his desk for the large bottle of Purell he kept in his draw. He applied it liberally to his palms and rubbed thoroughly.

The piles of bills on his desk begged to be thrown around in celebration. Crowley knew from experience though this wasn’t all that satisfying and picking them up after was a ball-ache, so he left them where they were.

_I suppose I should start looking into this Dean guy…_

His hand hovered over the memory stick.

_But Juliet does deserve a beautiful new collar…_

Three clicks later Crowley was on the webpage he’d bookmarked weeks back. This first, and then he’d start looking into Dean, he promised himself. Three days was more than enough to get to the bottom of what was likely to be a simple case of spousal infidelity.

*******

Dean Arawn-Smith was beautiful. Six hours of scouring through the man’s life, this was about the only solid conclusion Crowley could actually make about him. He seemed like a perfect productive member of society in many regards, a Stepford Businessman, Crowley concluded.

His client had included useful information on his husband such as Dean’s social security number, social media account handles, a copy of their wedding license, bank account numbers, even information on his latest car lease. It was more information than Crowley usually had to dig up to solve a case.

Crowley had figured early on he’d get nothing from the email accounts he’d been given. Dean was apparently not stupid enough to organize and arrange his split through these accounts. He was still using them, and the fact that he hadn’t changed the password implied _something_ , Crowley just wasn’t sure what.

So far it had turned out Dean had dropped his old job three months back and moved to become Director of Sales and Marketing at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. Crowley recognized the name of the company easily and knew he had a contact there if he had to delve deeper. Just from public record though, Crowley had concluded that Dean had a high profile job a Sandover, a step-up from his old position at a smaller firm doing much the same thing.

None of this was _odd_ though, which in itself was… odd.

Dean didn’t seem to use social media very much. His LinkedIn had been recently updated, but that went hand-in-hand with the new job. His Instagram was mostly of selfies at the gym, or photos of food. Crowley used one of his favorite archiving tools to check Dean’s neglected-looking Twitter account and found that he had deleted a couple of photos three months ago, tying in with the time point he’d left his husband. Though, once again, there was nothing anomalous in deleting photos of your ex from your social media accounts.

It was often a sign of a troubled relationship when there were _a lot_ of photos of the couple, with captions about just how _wonderful_ and _blessed_ their lives were. He found none of that in Dean’s posts though. It did strike him from the deleted photos there were how the two of them seemed to have had a genuine relationship. Crowley couldn’t bring together in his mind the tan, freckled, Hollywood smile he’d spent hours looking at with the dour, pale, old man who had come into his office. But he had found plenty of evidence of their life together. Them celebrating special events together. Them going to the theatre, them on exotic holidays.

When he first noticed the age difference, his assumption had been that Dean was just a gold digger. If that was the case though, he was a very dedicated gold digger. The LinkedIn profile had revealed to Crowley that Dean had done an internship at Mr. Arawn’s business in the time between finishing his undergrad and starting his master’s at Stanford. They got married while Dean was studying. After he graduated, he’d continued to work at his husband’s company for a few years before moving to another, and then finally to Sandover following the separation.

They’d shared a life together for twelve years though, including a large wedding seven years ago overseas, well attended by their friends and family. It wasn’t difficult to find many photos of the event, including one of Dean’s father Bob and Mr. Arawn shaking hands.

Crowley had used facial recognition software to run Dean’s face through the most common dating websites, out of curiosity. He hit bingo on one site, but was disappointed to see the profile was three weeks old. This implied that even if he _had_ been cheating, it was possible that relationship was over now and Dean was after someone else. The awkward, lacklustre tone of the profile made Crowley suspect he hadn’t done this very much either.

Juliet was cuddled up with Crowley, happily asleep. He absentmindedly stroked the overly-pampered, snoozing, gray Great Dane. Sunlight was starting to come in through the curtain-less window lighting up his room with spots of orange and yellow. Crowley realized only then that he’d been awake all night looking into Dean. It was Tuesday morning already.

Juliet would soon insist he got up so she could be fed and have her morning walk. He ran a gentle finger down one of the prominent veins on the underside of her soft left ear and enjoyed the moment just watching her chest steadily rise and fall.

Where was there to go next?

It’s funny, you follow a person and take photos of them, and it’s stalking. You get someone to pay you to do it, get licenced, and you can call yourself a private investigator. Ha.

By the time Crowley got back to Juliet that evening, his feet ached and he even missed his crappy office with the dying spider plant. Juliet licked his face hello and wagged her tail, always pleased to see him.

Hitting the pavement hadn’t revealed much of anything, to add to the frustration. Crowley had followed Dean for a whole day. The man went from his apartment to his office, stayed in the building from 8 am until 8 pm and then went straight home. _Fascinating._

Crowley left at 8.30 pm to go home to Juliet.

During Juliet’s evening walk, Crowley made a call to an associate and asked her to try and secure Dean’s credit card bills from the last three months. It was highly illegal, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He was assured he’d have the records the following evening, which would give him at least a day longer to try and make sense of them. It was going to take a big chunk out of his payment unfortunately, but he had a reputation to protect.

***

On Wednesday Dean’s routine started exactly the same as Tuesday. Crowley was outside his apartment and drove with a three-car buffer behind Dean from his home to the office. Things got a little more exciting as Dean at least left for lunch, though it turned out he just headed for a nearby gym. Not being a member, Crowley couldn’t do much but try to trick the receptionist into giving him the name of Dean’s trainer. This turned into a dead end as the receptionist was annoyingly tight-lipped. It seemed pointless to keep following Dean the rest of the day, especially with the clock ticking down, so Crowley decided to retired to his office for the rest of the afternoon where he hoped inspiration might strike.

Crowley had lunch at his office desk (pastrami on rye, extra mustard) and started going back through Dean’s Instagram photos, trying to figure out if he could be having an affair with one of the gym trainers. If he spent a while lingering over some of the photos, admiring the man’s strong jaw and pouty lips, well, no one else was there to judge him.

Around 3 pm he felt reenergized as his associate emailed him with six months’ worth of Dean’s itemised credit card bills. Crowley spent a couple of hours going through the bills, digitally highlighting anything of importance to try and find patterns so he could figure out if there were any oddities. He also used a physical map to pin out where Dean most regularly spent money, so he could see where Dean spent his time. He’d once caught out a cheat because he spent a lot of time buying sodas at a 7-Eleven nowhere near his route home.

Right before Dean had left his husband there had been a flourish of activity at different designer interior decorator stores – easily attributed to Dean setting up his new home. The only thing of real interest though were the regular dinners Dean paid for every Tuesday night at the same place downtown. This didn’t sound like the set-up to a scandalous affair, but it did give Crowley something to follow up on if the investigation was to go into a second week. He was annoyed he’d gone home so early the night before though, or he would have spotted Dean eventually leaving his home again to go to the diner. With Juliet to tend to, he hadn’t had many other options.

Before he left the office to return home to Juliet, and well aware that he only had a day left before he was due to check in with Mr. Arawn, Crowley messaged his inside man at Sandover. He’d been reluctant to go straight to this as he only had so many favors he could call in with Ian, but if he couldn’t provide Mr. Arawn with something it would be unlikely the man would continue to pay him.

 _Though_ _my silver tongue has more than once put dinner on the table for no evidence, ha_ , he thought to himself smugly.

Crowley’s phone vibrated to alert him of a new message just as he was letting himself into his apartment. He then had to juggle reading the message while trying to deal with a bouncy Juliet.

“Who’s my good girl?” he cooed, scratching her behind the ear.

 

 **Received** **21:16**

SandoverMinion ~ _I can’t send you his emails. Too many people watching. But can get u into the building to view them on site._

 

Annoying, but it would have to do.

***

On the third day of the investigation Crowley met Ian (who was as ever clad in a company-policy breaking shirt) outside the building. With Ian’s security pass and a clone he’d made of someone else’s in Crowley’s hand, they made their way without scrutiny to the computer-support floor.

Logically there was no reason for Dean to be on the same floor, he worked somewhere else. The definite knowledge that he was in the building still made Crowley feel paranoid and like his cover would be blown at any point.

“Whose account are you after? You never said in your message.”

Ian, or Sandover Minion as Crowley preferred to think of him, had herded them into a closet full of several racks of whirring machines. He had a chunky-looking laptop with him that he started to attach to what appeared to Crowley like it could have been any random machine there.

“Dean Smith.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Do you have to know him?” Crowley asked pointedly, temper already wearing thin with the idiot before him.

“Nope.” Crowley didn't bother holding back a scowl.

Ian tapped away at his keyboard and with a self-satisfied smirk later, beckoned Crowley over to the laptop. . The email account of course had a photo of Dean.

“Oh, him! Him I know,” Ian announced.

Crowley took the laptop in one arm and awkwardly scrolled through with his other

“Oh?” Crowley started flicking through the inbox, carefully trying not to read anything that was unread already, before delving into the sent folder.

“He’s friends with my coffee buddy – Sam Wesson.”

“Friends? And potentially more?”

“With _Sam_? No, he’s caught up on his ex, Madison. I think he and Sam started at the company at the same time though.”

“Did they know each other before that?”

Crowley tried a few key terms in the search field of Dean’s email system hoping that might uncover something. Nothing yet was working. He delved into the deleted folder instead, thinking maybe it was naive to have thought Dean wouldn’t have covered up his tracks.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know much about that Dean guy, just seen Sam and him go out for lunch sometimes. Sam gets worried when he thinks people are getting enough high-fructose corn syrup in their diet.”

Crowley recognized that Ian was trying to be funny, but stuck in a closet with the moron and trying to uncover an affair by searching 30,000 deleted emails, there was very little that would amuse him in that moment.

“Do you see him interact with many other people? Dean that is, not Sam.” Normally he wouldn’t feel the need to specify by Ian was… well, an idiot.

Ian shrugged. “No idea, he’s on a whole other floor. Sam’s a social butterfly, gets in everywhere.”

It was beginning to feel like another unfortunate dead end. Crowley sighed and shut the laptop.

“Thank you for your assistance.”

“Does this mean, like, is my debt covered?”

“You mean your pathetic attempts at corporate espionage I uncovered?”

“Hey, it wasn’t anything like that!”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me. But yes, this should buy _most_ of my silence.”

“Most? What do you mean by most?”

Crowley brushed imaginary lint off his jacket, refusing to answer Ian’s questions.

“I’ll show myself out, shall I?”

Crowley spent the rest of the day playing with Juliet at the park and walking her. She’d needed a lot of exercise to make up for the fact he’d neglected her so much that week.

He was jealous of how easily Juliet fell asleep that night. His mind was wide awake long into the early hours trying to figure out what he’d tell his client when they met the next day.

Three days of solid investigating and he’d learned most of Dean’s normal, dull, and very repetitive habits. He’d learned a lot, and yet, very little. He knew Dean’s favorite brand of tooth paste and where he went for his facials. The only two leads he _really_ had though were the regular dinners and this connection to Sam Wesson.

A little digging on Sam had unveiled that he’d started at Sandover the same time as Dean – just as Ian had told him. They had both it turned out been born in Kansas, but it didn’t appear that Dean had quit his old job and his marriage for the purpose of spending time in the same building as Sam every day. Which was unfortunate as that would have neatly tied the mystery up. Still, for a man who appeared to have no friends, Sam’s sudden appearance did seem to be at least an orange flag.

He was starting to think Dean might have had no reasons beyond wanting to move from boring matrimonial life to boring bachelor life.

“Do you think he just wanted a change of scenery?”

Juliet didn’t answer, since she was sensible enough to be asleep already.

“He’s rich, well educated, from a stable family. And yet he married a much, much older man. He doesn’t even appear to need the money his husband would be able to provide him with.” The email Crowley had found on information pertaining to Dean’s bonuses had made it clear the man could afford to support his own opulent lifestyle.

“I’m starting to think he hasn’t cheated on his husband. But we know what will happen if I give _that_ answer to the husband tomorrow, don’t we?”

Juliet didn’t reply, but Crowley knew she’d agree with him if she could.

***

Come Friday morning, sat back in his office, Crowley called Mr. Arawn to give him an update.

“Is this a good time?”

“Always, dear fellow.”

 _Urgh_. Crowley hated people trying to create a sense of false camaraderie.

“I looked into the information you gave me, talked to a contact of mine at Sandover.”

“And have you found the rascal my Dean is stepping out on me with?”

Crowley paused. “I’ve found two things, a name, Sam Wesson? Does it ring any bells?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“There’s also the regular dinners he attends.”

“Oh?” Mr. Arawn sat forward slightly on hearing this.

“On Tuesday evenings. It appears he’s been doing that for a long time now.”

“Ah. That I am aware of.” He sat back again. “It’s a dilapidated little diner on the edge of town.”

Either that was good or not, Crowley didn’t know yet. More information was always good though.

“Did you ever go with him there?”

“Not at all. That was his time away from me. I never knew what he did on those evenings. Tuesdays I needed time to deal with my… business. Dean left our home to ensure he would not… get in the way.”

 _Bingo_.

“I know it isn’t much, but I think if you gave me another week, I could pin down some specifics. Find out more about this Sam Wesson.”

There was a pause. This was either going to be make it or break it territory.

“I can agree to that. I’d like a profile on this _Sam_ , if you would be so kind.”

“I’d also like to propose an additional expense: Dean’s gym sessions, I can’t get in to find out what he’s after without becoming a member. I found out who his trainer is, I think the best way to find out if he’s cheating with his trainer is to hire them on myself.”

Mr. Arawn sighed wearily. “Fine, fine. I approve that cost. You can bill me for it if you must.”

 _Ha_. Crowley was pleased to have gotten that through the man – a minimum of a month’s free membership to one of the most expensive gyms in the city. Excellent work for a Friday morning.

*******

Juliet wasn’t happy about going into the kennels. Crowley wasn’t either, which didn’t help. Part of the reason he loved his job so much was it allowed him to more or less pick his own hours so he could be with his dog. But needs were, and he had to focus on this case if he was going to satisfy his client.

“Daddy’s got to do an overnight stakeout, sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll soon settle in here with the other dogs, won’t you good girl?”

Crowley tried not to smirk as Juliet growled at kennel assistant.

“I rescued her as a puppy from a storm ditch, I’m afraid she’s been overly attached ever since.” He wasn’t one to share personal information normally. Gushing about Juliet was a whole other thing though.

He’d been alone in a new country, 23 and very much alone when he’d adopted his first puppy from outside a superstore. Bouley (as the dog had come to be known) had been a beast in size and a defenceless puppy in heart. Crowley could never figure out what breed the dog had been, a little bit of everything seemed the most likely. During those first awkward years away from England, Bouley had been his firm friend. And then as time was want to do, the dog grew older, frail and had eventually passed.

Argos had come next. He’d adopted Argos by force – which was to say, technically he’d stolen the dog from someone he’d been investigating at the time. The poor black Labrador had been abused for years and it broke his heart to just leave the thing there. Argos had lived to the grand old age of 12 when he too, passed on.

Crowley had been 37 at the time and determined to never let another dog have his heart. When he hit 40, debt, melancholy and a deepening frustration at his own gambling addiction had led him to a rain-soaked, all-day walk. His wool coat got heavier and heavier with water the more miles he did, mud splashing up his pants, caking his flimsy-soled shoes. The afternoon had turned to evening and still on he walked following the I-77 back into town. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice in the matter, he’d stupidly lost his car in a game of cards that night, along with all his money and his cellphone. Walking was his only option.

“A storm ditch?” the kennel assistant asked, breaking Crowley’s dark thoughts of that night.

“I have no idea how she got there, but she was small back then, and stuck. I had to wade in nearly knee-deep in to save her, but we bonded straight away.”

Juliet was still pulling at her leash trying to return to Crowley.

She’d been his saviour that night, and he hers. She’d been his sun that evening. Three years had passed since he’d found her, chilled nearly to death and so weak she could barely bark. The routine having a new dog had forced back into his life had helped him to regain his sense of self. He’d once more been able to work to his full abilities.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be back for you in soon.” He leaned down the little required to kiss her on her head. “You be brave, daddy loves you.”

Fists clenched in his coat pocket, Crowley walked back to his car.

Realistically this was the only fair thing to do if he was going to properly get to grips stalking – er, investigating – Dean Smith. Juliet being away also gave him an added incentive. The sooner he wrapped the case up, the sooner he could get her back.

*******

Jakob the personal trainer was part taskmaster, part complete and utter dick, and Crowley regretted ever meeting the moron. It seemed like a brilliant plan at the start to get a personal trainer to help blend in at Dean’s gym. Dean’s personal trainer, Anna, was apparently fully booked for weeks. Crowley had asked for the woman by name knowing Dean was one of her clients and been firmly turned down coupled with a look of derision and mockery at the idea that Anna would have any openings. Lucky for him, he happened to know Jakob was at least good friends with Anna, judging on his Instagram.

In his mind he thought he’d do his initiation session with Jakob and try to find out if he thought Anna might be sleeping with Dean. Though it was very difficult to get a question in when he was gasping for breath. His cardio wasn’t as good as it used to be, but he did redeem himself on the weights. Having to deal with a 120 lb dog on a daily basis tended to do that. When they finally got to the weights session, Crowley managed to get in a few questions.

“I was after Anna, I hear she’s the best. You all must be very proud of her. She’s done wonder for my friend’s core. If she can get his sedentary, desk-bound self to achieve the sort of toned buttocks he has, I thought she would be able to help me. But you seem very qualified too.”

“Anna’s the best with butts,” Jakob muttered while writing something down on his clipboard. He was meant to be taking Crowley through a range of things to get a base level for working up a full program for him.

“Is she seeing anyone?” He tried to make it sound casual and not like he hadn’t been trying to fit it into the conversation for the last 30 minutes of Jakob’s assessment.

He looked up and laughed. Crowley tried not to frown. Being laughed at and sweaty was not his favorite way to spend a Saturday.

“She’s got a girlfriend, pal. Very dedicated.”

“I only ask as my friend Dean, Dean Smith? He seems very fond of her.”

“Another couple of curls with those dumbbells, you got this,” Jakob encouraged. “Yeah, I know Dean, he’s a good guy. Did he recommend this place to you?”

Crowley huffed and lifted the weights in his hands again.

“Yeah, shame about Anna, he’ll be crushed.”

Jakob laughed. “I doubt it. She turned him onto this Cayenne pepper-maple cleanse, it did not take too well. Heard the two of them arguing about it not long back.”

“Oh, that was her!” Crowley chuckled, playing along like he had any idea. “He was a total grouch on that thing.”

“Most of them are. They think cutting calories is going to build muscle.” Jackob flexed his own impressive pecs. “These beauties? If you’re interested in this, you need protein. But we can talk about diet and nutrition later.”

 _Thank fuck this gym thing is only for a month_ , Crowley thought sourly as he flopped into his car an hour later. His legs and ass already hurt, and he knew it’d just be worse in the morning. After hitting the gym so hard, the last thing Crowley wanted was to spend the night in his car, but that was exactly what he was about to do. Twenty-four hour surveillance was risky, uncouth but frankly, a necessary evil.

After his meeting the previous Friday with Mr. Arawn, Crowley had gained another week’s employ to follow Dean. He’d taken the weekend to double-check everything he could, and paid his friendly neighborhood hacker to get him into Dean’s Facebook account. When even his private messages on Facebook had turned out to have nothing incriminating or illuminating towards Dean’s reasons for leaving his husband, Crowley knew he only had one choice: follow the guy closely until something popped up. His previous stint of observation was obviously not a thorough enough sample to detect something.

Crowley was at least now prepared to cross off Anna the trainer from his list of people Dean could be seeing on the sly. Jakob might have ridden him hard and put him away sore and achy in all the wrong ways, but he’d been a treasure trove of information about Dean’s gym life. Unfortunately the result wa, Dean’s gym life was as regulated and predictable as the rest of him seemed to be. Crowley had Jakob look up Dean’s training schedule, claiming he wanted to try something like that as it had worked for his _friend_ so well. Jakob looked at it and told Crowley it was all wrong for his level and the results he wanted to achieve. Crowley was happy to smile and nod along, as if he was intending to make this a long-term thing.

Crowley’s competitors would have set up cameras to watch Dean’s out instead of doing it in person. But he’d learned the hard way that cameras could be found, tampered with, and provide enough evidence that had almost led to a prosecution against himself in the past. Whereas a guy in a car? Sure someone might call him out on it being odd, but most likely they weren’t going to notice as people didn’t really _want_ to notice.

So rolling on Saturday, week two of the job, he was in his car, feeling sorry for himself after his time at the gym earlier. He started up his iPad and went to Dean’s Facebook again on the off chance the guy had posted anything new in the last 24 hours. The last update from him was still “Christmas with the fam!” from ten months earlier. Dean had left a couple of things on his friends’ walls, liked some charity posts, but he either had a second account he used for private direct messaging or just never used the service.

He resisted the urge to smash his head against his steering wheel. He’d caught out one cheating husband through Facebook a few years back after the idiot had posted something publicly thinking he was direct messaging. One screen cap of that and his job was done. Dean though, Dean had to be just so much trickier than that. But Crowley wasn’t beaten yet.

Dean worked Saturdays too and came home at his normal 8.30 pm. Crowley watched and observed from his position across the street to see if anyone visited Dean or if he perhaps went out. When neither of these things happened and Dean’s home lights turned off at exactly 10 pm, Crowley half considered just going home. Going home now would leave the job half-finished. He’d never know if anyone visited later on, or if Dean sneaked out after hours.

Crowley spent the night starting his search on Sam Wesson. In a case with very few leads, he could at least be promising. The only thing not adding up was did Dean know Sam before he moved to Sandover? And if so, how? And if not, were they seeing each other now that they did work together? If Crowley could prove they were together now, that might be enough to implicate that they had been seeing each other before Dean had left his husband.

He stayed awake the whole night, keeping half an eye on Dean’s home and another on his research materials. Nothing was popping up about Sam to imply he’d possibly met Dean before they started work. Around 4 am Sunday when Crowley was starting to lose hope of ever cracking the case, he decided he was better off driving home for a few hours’ sleep. Leaving before Dean woke up lessened the chances of him being caught following the man too.

Couple of hours sleep and a hot shower later Crowley was not feeling any better. He still hurt from his training session yesterday, and then on top of that from being sat in his car for most of the afternoon and evening. But what was hurting worst was his ego. Stepford Businessman Dean Smith seemed nothing but a model employee. The only _weird_ thing he’d done was to leave his husband for reasons Crowley still couldn’t figure out, and got a new job, which wasn’t even _weird_. He didn’t seem to be close to anyone in particular.

Sam Wesson was seemingly trying to make it work with his ex-fiancée, who had dumped _him_ because she had cold feet about the wedding. (Crowley believed she was cheating on Sam, but that was not the matter at hand.) Nothing in the messages Crowley had read through between Dean and Sam over their hacked iMessage accounts indicated anything other than a friendly appreciation for the other. Sam had some pretty crazy dreams about ghosts and other not-natural beings and shared them with Dean. Dean started to suggest he turn them into a book. He sounded less enthusiastic than Sam about the idea, but still replied to Sam’s. Crowley couldn’t fully rule out Sam and Dean without seeing them interact in person though. It did appear they went out for lunches sometimes, he couldn’t find any evidence of them ever going out _after_ _work_ together.

Sam left at 5.15 pm on the dot nearly every day, Crowley knew from his observations of Dean the previous week. Dean was likely to start early and work late, on top of his working Saturdays.

Nearing 3 pm Crowley threw down all his files for the case and went in search of clean workout gear. He had a second gym session at 4 pm and was already regretting ever talking Mr. Arawn into paying for the membership. It was important though as he knew Dean tended to spend Sunday afternoons at the gym as well and he wanted to see with his own eyes what went down there.

Jakob had him do weights before sessions on various cardio machines. Crowley didn’t feel there was much more to glean from the puffed-up jock today so intended to stay quiet and just get through things. He had another evening of staking out Dean’s home planned ahead of him too.

_Fun oh fun._

He hurt even worse sliding into his car this time. The quick shower he’d taken after his session had been enough to at least clean himself so he didn’t smell up his Buick in the hours ahead.

He parked up just down the street from Dean’s home and settled in to wait for Dean to arrive home.

Crowley could feel his soul starting to shrivel up that nothing more exciting was happening. Rich old guys do not marry young, pretty men without there being something up! It just wasn’t in the laws of human nature. And if there was one thing Crowley knew, it was human nature.

Dean went to bed at 10 pm again. Crowley contemplated driving home and putting together a highly biased casefile on Sam Wesson that implicated him as being involved somehow with Dean. That was starting to seem like the most reasonable course of action – even if the information wasn’t quiet correct. Crowley moved his hand up towards the ignition button, only to find his arm refused to listen to the command. His muscles in his right arm were protesting their earlier pain session at the gym.

Crowley let his arm flop back onto his lap and glared at his hand. _Damnit_.

He threw his head back against the headrest and decided he’d just nap in his car for a little while until his body loosened up enough to let him drive home.

Tomorrow was Monday, and then at least he only had one more day until Tuesday. Hallowed, hallowed Tuesday. Tuesday was Dean’s dinner out and Crowley’s last chance to really try and get inside info on Dean’s life before he had to meet with Mr. Arawn to present his final results.

Everything was going to be _so_ much better on Tuesday.

 

*******

 

 _Tap, tap, tap_.

Crowley opened his eyes a crack to try and figure out how to stop the noise.

_Tap, tap, tap._

As threads of consciousness wove their way through his brain slowly waking him up, he noted a few unusual things.

One: He was in his car.

Two: His neck hurt and cracked as he turned it to the side.

Three: he had to turn the electronics on in his car so he could wind down the misted-up driver-side window.

Four: Oh... fuck.

“Just how much is my husband paying you to investigate me?” Dean Smith asked, peering into the car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh it has warmed my heart to have so many nice comments to chapter 1 of this mess, so thanks to everyone who even just clicked on out of curiosity. It's been a really tumultuous few weeks with my mum in and out of hospital so I've really appreciated the nice feedback as a spot of happy. 
> 
> This should be done in three chapters. The third chapter is nearly finished apart from one key scene that doesn't want to exist. I'm going to aim to have the final chapter up in another week as there really isn't much more to be written. Anyway, on with the show!

**_Last time on_ The English Millionaire Investigator**

 

 _Tap, tap, tap_.

Crowley opened his eyes a crack to try and figure out how to stop the noise.

_Tap, tap, tap._

As threads of consciousness wove their way through his brain slowly waking him up, he noted a few unusual things.

One: He was in his car.

Two: His neck hurt and cracked as he turned it to the side.

Three: he had to turn the electronics on in his car so he could wind down the misted-up driver-side window.

Four: Oh... fuck.

“Just how much is my husband paying you to investigate me?” Dean Smith asked, peering into the car.

 

* * *

 

Crowley's eye twitched. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. My wife kicked me out, I didn’t have anything on me but my car keys so,” Crowley shrugged and gestured around him. “She’ll calm down though.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I would have bought that maybe if this wasn’t the third time I’ve seen you parked out here. I also saw you exiting Sandover the other day. And, I know my husband.”

Crowley was going to protest when Dean turned his day on its head.

“How about we give each other a break and instead of you following me, we just work together? I’ll give you the answers you need.”

That knocked the wind slightly out of Crowley’s sails. He observed Dean for a moment, trying to figure out his next move.

“Why would you want us to work together?” Crowley didn’t believe for a second he’d get honest answers out of this man. But he’d been caught now, playing along seemed the easier route.

“I just want Stephen off my back, okay?” He sounded sincere enough to Crowley’s ear, but that meant very little.

“Was he abusive?” Crowley asked before his mouth could stop him. Rich, powerful spouse, rich enough to ensure there’d been no hospitalization records, no police call-outs…

“No! What? No, no. Nothing like that. Why would you even ask?” Dean looked at Crowley with confusion. 

“I had to consider it,” Crowley shrugged. “Your husband thinks you’ve cheated on him and left him for someone else.”

“I suppose you won’t believe me if I told you I haven’t and didn’t?”

 _I am starting to think you didn’t,_ he thought but did not reveal.

“And we’re separated, it isn’t cheating if I’ve left him.”

_So did he cheat before?_

“I never did while we were together either, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

_Damn it all._

Dean blew a huff of breath out. With him standing next to Crowley’s car, looming, he managed to be a surprisingly intimidating figure for a Stepford Businessman.

“Your dinner tomorrow night, I was planning on following you there and observing. You know, your husband never knew what you got up to on those nights. If I can include in my report to him details of that… he might be satisfied enough to stay away from you.”

“Hell, you know what, if it gets you out of my hair? Consider this an official invite. You can come and eat with me, we’ll chat, you can go tell Stephen you found exactly nothing, and then stay the hell away from me. Does that sound good? I promise you though – it’s dull. I go by myself, eat, read a book sometimes, and then go home again.”

Crowley agreed. There wasn’t much else to say. He could hardly observe the guy in an unbiased way now he knew he was being followed.

Driving home, Crowley cursed himself for being caught by the mark and simultaneously congratulating himself for this excellent turn in good fortune. It wouldn’t actually be the first time in his career he’d teamed up with the mark to try and complete the job. Sometimes he offered them money by means of a bribe. If the partner didn’t care they were being caught cheating, it was easy money for them and a faster job for Crowley. If money didn’t work, blackmail usually did. Look into a person’s life for long enough and you usually found something of interest, even if it wasn’t of interest to the spouse.

Believing morality to be a spectrum of gray tones was an easier way to live in his line of business.

Crowley lost the rest of Monday doing background checks on new employees for a local bar (/illegal gambling den) he knew of. The owner and he went way, way back to the dizzying highs and lows of his gambling addiction. Importantly though, it was work distracting enough to keep himself away from further thoughts of Dean Smith.

When he went to bed that night, thankfully in his own bed, he missed Juliet’s presence. By Friday after his meeting he’d be able to pick her up again and spend the weekend spoiling her rotten. With the money he was going to get for this case too, he’d be liquid for at least a couple of months.

*******

If it wasn’t for the light pollution, Crowley expected there would be a beautiful display of stars above them as they walked into Dean’s Tuesday diner. The evening was warm but not so warm as to stop Crowley wearing his suit jacket to complete the navy blue, three-piece look he preferred for business engagements.

Midnight Diner on East Carson Boulevard was a tired cliché with its classic railroad car-style interior and red-vinyl seats.

“Really?” It was a knee-jerk reaction soon as they stepped through the front doors.

“You don’t like it?” Dean’s stance stiffened.

“Hasn’t this all been done before?” Crowley could have taken Dean being obsessed with a vegan, gluten-free hippie joint, but this before him just didn’t click with the man he’d come to understand through his research.

“Dean, brother, how’s it goin’?” called a man cheerfully from the other side of the counter. Dean rolled his eyes at Crowley and walked up to the counter.

“Hey, Benny.” Dean slipped onto one of the fixed stools on the other side of the counter. He and Benny exchanged high fives. “Same ol’ same.”

Sparks went off in Crowley’s mind watching the two interact. They had an easy air about them and Benny seemed content to ignore his work the other side of the bar to talk for a bit with Dean.

“This here is Crowley.” Dean nodded in Crowley’s direction. “How’s things?”

Crowley smiled curtly at Benny and took a seat at another stool, leaving one between him and Dean.

“Good, can’t complain. Unusual to see you here with someone.” Benny leaned over the counter onto his elbows.

“He’s a private eye.”

Crowley frowned that Dean would be so up front and open, though, that he was being so open with Benny also implied a certain kinship.

“I’m thinking of making a few investments and asked him to look into a couple of things for me.”

“Huh, check you out. He any good?”

“I’m about to find out,” Dean chuckled.

Crowley’s frown deepened. Apparently Dean was a smooth liar.

“Usual for you?”

“Yes please.”

Dean winked, _winked_ , at Benny. “And this guy here,” he tilted his head to Crowley, “he’ll take the… shrimp and grits and…” Dean studied Crowley a moment. “Ice tea.”

“I don’t get to order my own food?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“You should trust Dean, he knows what’s good here.”

Dean tipped his head back and laughed. “Benny, everything’s good here. That’s the problem.”

Benny and Dean exchanged heated looks before Dean looked away shyly, a slightly blush on his cheeks.

“Eatin’ at the counter, brother?” Benny straightened back up.

“At a booth, if you don’t mind? Be easier for talking.”

“Not a problem, I’ll bring it right over.”

Crowley followed Dean over to an empty booth at the back of the restaurant.

“Does he normally take the order, cook, and deliver the food? Seems a little unusual.” Crowley spied a bored-looking waiter standing in the corner playing with his phone.

“I’m not sleeping with the guy,” Dean objected straight away.

“I never said you were.” 

“You were trying to figure it out though.”

He was, but he also wasn’t going to admit it.

Crowley unbuttoned his jacket and slid into the booth opposite Dean. Though Crowley himself had dressed fairly smartly for the evening, Dean was looking more relaxed than Crowley had seen him before, in a dark polo shirt and beige khakis.

“How about a game?” Dean suggested.

“A game?”

“You ask a question, I ask a question.”

“ _Quid pro quo_?” Crowley rubbed his three-day old scruff and considered the idea. “What’s to stop me from lying?”

“Nothing, I guess. Even your lies reveal something about you though. We get one veto each, and I’ll even let you go first.”

Crowley couldn’t see any downsides. He was an expert liar, after all.

“Did he cheat on you? Is that why you left?” he started.

“That’s two questions,” Dean said smoothly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. Apparently Dean was a stickler for the rules in all aspects of life.

“Did you leave because he cheated on you?”

“He never cheated on me.”

“People in happy relationships don’t just pack up one day and leave. That’s what he wants to know, the _whys_ of it. And the how.”

“I wasn’t unhappy, but I wasn’t happy either. I needed a change.”

“You’ve gone from working one boring corporate job to another boring corporate job. Nothing in your routine seems to have changed.”

“That wasn’t a question, and besides, it’s my turn: How did you get into being a private investigator?”

“Thinking of taking it up yourself?”

“Stop deflecting,” Dean replied firmly.

“I came to the US and needed a job. Someone I knew asked me to track down a person who, ahem, owed money. I managed that and received a cut. Things spiralled from there. I had no other qualifications apart from a deep understanding of how the human psyche works. I made it work for me.”

_Okay, maybe a little truth isn’t a bad thing. There’s nothing incriminating in that story, right?_

There was a pause in the conversation as Benny dropped off the food. He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and Dean replied by patting Benny’s hand.

“You’re too good to me, Benny.”

“Nothin’ to it, brother. You enjoy.”

Dean’s eyes followed Benny as he walked back to the front of house.

“What’s the deal with you and Sam Wesson? You appear, prior to him, to have never made a friend at work, only acquaintances with your superiors. The only people you talk to on the phone otherwise are your family and your fitness trainers.”

“He’s my friend – and you’re right, maybe my only friend. If you have to know, we share something in common and bonded over that.”

“Which is?”

Crowley’s food smelt amazing. Shrimp, grits all together in a large bowl. Dean had waffles, chicken and a side of hash browns. It appeared Mr Stepford Businessman had cheat days sometimes.

“No, it’s my turn. Is Crowley your first name or last name?”

“Neither,” he returned blithely, refusing to give more to the response than required. “What’s your _special_ connection to Sam?”

“He was adopted too.” Crowley hadn’t picked up on Sam having been adopted, he stalled for a moment, surprised. “Though, he was a baby at the time he was adopted, I was four. I’ve never… I don’t know others, until I met Sam. I love my parents, but it’s been nice talking to him about it all. I’m feeling generous so I’ll throw in a free response for you too – I’m not sleeping with Sam Wesson. He’s straight as straight comes.”

Crowley was about to ask if he’d ever tracked down his birth parents – it was a service he’d offered many times – but it felt like a waste of a question.

“How do you do PI work? What’s the day-to-day like in the life of a private dick?”

Dean cut his food into small, neat pieces before he started eating.

“Mostly my work is with corporate clients. Background checks, insurance fraud checks, that sort of thing. Most of the information I can get just through people’s internet accounts these days. A guy after compensation for hurting his back at work? I find a video of him on his friend’s YouTube channel running a marathon two weeks later. There’s the odd marital dispute of course.”

“Or we wouldn’t be here.”

“Exactly,” Crowley agreed. “Normally I can tell from their online interactions if they’re having an affair. Check their private messages, get the hard evidence if need be.

“Your darling husband said you managed to organize the new job and new apartment without him knowing,” Crowley said, bringing the conversation back on topic. “I can’t find anything in your phone records that suggests you talked to a real estate agent, so how did you pull that one off?”

“That’s so easy I’m surprised you didn’t work it out. I borrowed my coworker’s phone, well ex-coworker, from my previous job, and did everything through that. I didn’t want Stephen to try and talk me out of it. Call me selfish if you have to.

“How did you even get my phone records? That seems very illegal – which, by the way, not a question. I know it’s illegal without a warrant.”

“I have my sources. I’m vetoing further questions on this, I can’t name names. But I know people who know how to find any flaws in the system and exploit them.” Charlie was a good kid. He’d realized her potential and set out to give her a heads-up about the FBI’s interest in the company she used to work for. She’d gotten out in time to save herself from ruins of Richard Roman Enterprises.

“What’s your sexual relationship like with your husband?”

Dean looked intently at his plate, trying to decide what to take a bite of next. He popped a piece of waffle onto his fork. “Vetoed,” he smiled, popping the waffle in his mouth and happily chowing down.

“Why did you leave the UK?”

“My mother got sent to prison for murdering my father. I didn’t feel inclined to stay around so I left.”

What he said was true, though it didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of that complicated history. The resulting true-but-not-truth story he’d told so many times now it didn’t even faze him anymore.

He mulled over everything he knew about the case while they both enjoyed their food.

“You seem very dull, Mr. Smith.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Dean snarked.

“I don’t buy it, I don’t buy it at all. No one is this straight forward.”

“I married a guy over twice my age while I was still in my 20s, isn’t that complicated enough for you?”

“Why did you leave him?” Crowley repeated again.

“I was bored, there’s nothing more to it. I was done living with him. Tired of the same routine.”

“Ha!” Crowley had to laugh at that. “That’s ridiculous. You left him and moved from your huge, beautiful house to a huge, beautiful apartment. You changed your job. You joined a gym. Not much has really strictly changed about your life. You even still come here every Tuesday, even though you have no need to avoid your own home on such nights.”

“No more evening parties with Stephen, no more wine tastings, no more having to interact with the same boring people. I was tired of him and his world. And yeah, maybe my version of freedom isn’t the same as yours, but it is freedom. People are allowed to get _bored_ , Mr. Crowley.”

“You work six days a week, usually twelve hour days.”

“I… I enjoy the work.” He ducked his head down and kept eating.

“Now that is definitely a lie.”

“You must owe me a question by now, after all that. I’m going for a big one.”

Crowley sat back against the booth, waiting for what would likely be something tepid and pathetic.

“What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

“That’s it?” Dean nodded. Crowley cast his mind back through a history littered with dumb mistakes. The dumbest though?

“I lost my car once in an illegal gambling tournament. Along with nearly everything I owned, including my father’s pocket watch.”

The watch hadn’t held sentimental value. It was more of a trophy. A sign that he had outlived his father. He’d pick-pocketed it from his father’s still warm corpse himself.

Dean whistled low. “That is… pretty dumb.”

“I have a gambling addiction,” he offered up, not really knowing why. “I’ve been in recovery for three years now.”

“Oh.” Dean didn’t know how to reply to that. Perfect, perfect Dean. “Congratulations?” he offered up with a hesitant smile.

“Did you marry for love or for money?”

Dean set his knife and fork down and took a long draw from his glass of ice water.

“Neither, both, I don’t know. The marriage was my idea. Stephen needed open heart surgery. I’d been interning at his company… I guess I caught his eye?” Dean stopped and shook his head softly.

“I’m telling this story wrong. He has three children who loath him, and four brothers who are, well, vicious to say the least. They’re all after his money, like _all_ the time. Stephen needed surgery, he was worried they’d make medical decisions against his will. I suggested the marriage. It was the quickest way for me to be his medical proxy, but the legal situation being what it was back then, we decided against it at the time. So he set it up so that I would inherit _everything_ if he died. That way even if his family did manage to, er, mess with things, they might eventually manage to get something by claiming the will was manipulated by me or something, but it was going to take them a long time.

“But he had his surgery and has been fit as a horse ever since.”

Huh. That explained a few things. The mental story Crowley had been building of the man before him was finally nearing completion.

“So you did it out of the goodness of your own heart?” That was the only part that seemed unlikely.

“He put my sister through college and gave me financial security through grad school. I went to Stanford – not cheap. So yeah, I was getting something out of it. But soon as I graduated I was earning my own money. I…” Dean paused and took a deep breath. “I’m going to tell Stephen he can keep everything. I don’t want to fight him for even a cent. Much of our financials are in order that they’re separate. So long as he doesn’t begrudge me taking what I’ve earned on my own right, there’s nothing he should want.”

Dean had only finished half his massive portion of food. His appetite must have disappeared as now he was just sitting playing with the remaining food.

“If it helps, I think he really cares for you.”

“It doesn’t help,” Dean said sadly. “I wish I could be with him. We’ve worked well together. He’s been a mentor to me. He taught me how to relax.”

Crowley couldn’t hide the snort of derision. “This is you relaxed?”

“You should have seen me when I was doing my undergrad. It was nice, the attention, the gifts. I saw the world with Stephen.”

 _And he sees the world in you_.

“Is your little game over now, did I satisfy your curiosity?”

Crowley nodded hesitantly. “I think that’s everything.”

“I’ll get the bill, seems only fair since I invited you.”

Crowley’s initial reaction was to argue, it made the whole thing seem like some weird… date, which it definitely wasn’t. Not if he planned on billing this guy’s husband for the evening. Free food though, free food was always the best food.

“Did you like the dish?” Dean inquired as they exited the diner.

“You picked well,” Crowley had to admit. He motioned to the take home box in Dean’s hands. “Planning on eating the rest later?”

“Nah, Benny always gives me a free slice of pie whenever I visit,” he lifted up the box.

They walked across the lot to their respective cars. The air was much cooler by now. Crowley was definitely glad he had his jacket on. He was aware walking alongside Dean of their height difference too and noted that his legs were just as bowed up close as they’d appeared from afar.

“You flirt with him, _a lot_ ,” Crowley couldn’t help but note.

“No I don’t,” Dean insisted.

“And he flirts back, _a lot_.”

“He’s just being friendly. I’m kind of a regular. Usually sit and chat with him while I eat. Gives me a break from doing work while I eat.”

“You might not have been flirting with him, but he was definitely flirting with you. The pie, the casual touches – he likes you.”

“I’ve been with Stephen since my early 20s, I don’t notice that kinda thing,” Dean shrugged off. “You might not believe me still, but I swear I’ve been loyal to my husband.”

Crowley barked a laugh. “Would it take Benny kissing you before you–”

Crowley was startled to find another pair of lips on his. Dean pulled back a moment later, looking a little shy.

“And… and...” his brain stuttered. “What the hell was that?” He wasn’t feeling anger, just confusion.

“I don’t know.” Dean shuffled his feet. “You’re the one who spent most of the evening accusing me of being boring.”

Before Crowley really knew what was happening, he was leaning up and instigating a second kiss with Dean. The pervasive light pollution faded the stars and moon but set a somehow perfect scene for what was the best kiss Crowley had been a part of in years.

“I think I might like you. I’ve kind of always wanted to kiss a guy with stubble. I’ve sat there all evening thinking about it,” Dean admitted.

Apparently Dean Smith wasn’t the only one blind to the affections of those around him.

Confidence propped up by Crowley kissing him, Dean continued, “I… I’d like to see you again. You’re finishing with Stephen soon, right? How about drinks after? This has been one of the most exciting evening’s I’ve had in a long time, I’d like to get to know you.”

“Yes,” Crowley said vacantly, still blinking and trying to figure out how they’d got from the diner to the parking lot, to kissing to… to, whatever Dean was trying to say. He realized too late his vague yes meant he’d already accepted the invite.

“Call me?” Dean asked, though it sounded more like a wish and a hope. Crowley nodded, still feeling oddly light headed.

He had noticed how caught up he'd become looking into Dean’s case, into Dean, but he hadn’t ever thought of _this_ happening.

Dean paused, hand on the door of his Prius, before he twisted to face Crowley again.

“You can tell him… tell him what I was never brave enough to tell him.” Dean paused and let out a deep breath. “That you think I love him, that I was loyal… but also that I want to start a family. He’s never been interested. His kids hate me, like I said. And they’re all nearly my age or older. They never even came to the wedding. I don’t want my kids around someone like that, around a parent who shows them no affection. I want to adopt kids, like my parents adopted me. Make a family. Can you tell him that for me?”

It was the most vulnerable Crowley had seen Dean all evening. This felt to him like the raw, honest truth.

“Actually,” Dean started, walking back towards Crowley. “Can I kiss you again?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Crowley blinked up at him owlishly before grabbing Dean’s shoulders. He tried not to overthink what he should be doing with his lips and teeth, or to worry about the fact he’d just been eating seafood.

“Just tell me this isn’t you fancying a bit of rough? Attracted to me because I’m something new?” Crowley asked when they finally separated.

“Would that be so wrong?” Dean laughed, lips wet and shiny. Crowley already wanted to kiss him again, and keep kissing him until the fire building in him was quenched. It really had been too long since he’d been physically intimate with someone.

“I don’t know,” Crowley replied honestly.

*******

Crowley thought the next day about calling Dean many times. He’d dialed his number (taken from Dean's phone bill) and nearly pressed the call button a dozen times. Something was stopping him, a nagging sense of _ethics_ that he did not enjoy.

 _After I’ve meet with his husband and cleared this case_ , Crowley decided. It seemed a dick move to go on a date with the husband of his client while he was technically still being paid to investigate said husband. Even if he felt the previous evening had fully cleared up everything. Or, at least, most things.

Crowley got Juliet out of her kennel on Wednesday and enjoyed just spending time with her, ignoring work until his meeting with Mr. Arawn. She’d demanded so much attention – even if she had been pampered by the nicest kennels in the city, she’d still missed him as much as he’d missed her.

Friday finally came and Mr. Arawn was due at the office at 1 pm. As summer was finally blossoming, the little office was even stuffier than the first time Mr. Arawn had visited.

_He walked into my office like a Nazgûl that late spring afternoon. Ol’ Shiny Shoes was what they called him, but I called him–_

“Mr. Crowley,” came the curt greeting when Crowley opened the door, knocking his silly inner monologue out of his mind. It was precisely 1 pm.

“May I take your coat for you?” Crowley offered.

A slight frown appeared on Mr. Arawn’s face. “I’m fine, thank you,” came the expected response.

Crowley walked around to behind his desk, still not sure how the man could be comfortable in so many layers given the lack of AC in the office.

“So, Mr. Crowley. Have you found the person my husband is cheating on me with?”

 _Is it cheating if you’re separated?_ Crowley dared himself to ask back.

Crowley gave him a run-through of everything he’d gone over, trying to emphasize how much work he had put into the case. Talked about Sam Wesson, the diner owner, the gym instructor. How all were dead ends, ultimately.

“I can only conclude,” he took a deep breath, trying not to wince at the thoughts of Tuesday’s kisses, “that your husband hasn’t ever cheated on you. He isn’t currently with anyone either.”

Mr. Arawn nodded, taking in the information. “And as to the other matter? Why he left me?”

Crowley knew he had to tread lightly here. “He wants children, to start a family. I found he’d been vetting various adoption agencies.” This part was a lie, but no one else needed to know that. “I got the sense from his messages to them that your children dislike him greatly and…” this was the awkward part.

“I have no desire to raise more children, Dean knows that already.” Mr. Arawn played with his cane handle, rolling it back and forth in his hands again. “I see,” he sighed, for the first time relaxing his rigid posture. “I should have foreseen that. Family is very important to Dean. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his family.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you could have done to have changed things,” Crowley added trying to console him. “Sometimes people change and their needs… evolve.”

“We had a good run, I suppose,” Mr. Arawn said after a moment of silence. “What did you think of my Dean? Quite the catch, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed without hesitation. “He seems quite the force of nature. He’ll be running Sandover before long. He shouldn’t need much in the way of a settlement. His pay would more than cover his cost of living.”

Mr. Arawn nodded his agreement. “I should be lucky I had twelve years with him. It was better than my ex-wives, at least. Much more entertaining to turn up with a handsome young man on your arm to dull corporate events,” he chuckled darkly.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Crowley. I’ll arrange for the rest of your payment to be delivered tomorrow.”

Crowley showed the man out and locked his office door.

_That was rather anticlimactic._

Now he was free to call Dean with a clean conscience.

He typed in the number, finger hovering over the call button.

 _What would he want with someone like me though?_ Came the sudden, intruding thought.

If a man could leave his husband who had so much to give him, why would he be interested in a scruffy private eye with a dog he cared for more than anyone he’d ever dated? So what if he was _interesting_ to Dean? Crowley considered himself interesting to lots of people. And besides, when would he even have time to have drinks with Dean? He had a lot of work to do and Juliet to look after. Drinks only led to relationships, relationships only led to expectations, expectations only led to… Crowley winced thinking of his dead father, of his last girlfriend storming off, of all the partners he caught cheating for his client. Of the fact Dean wanted to start a family and soon.

_It’s better if I just avoid him. Better for both of us._

He sat back down in his chair ( _squeak_ ) and fished a bottle of whisky from the desk draw.

“Here’s to you,” Crowley jeered, toasting the now brown and yellow-mottled spider plant, before he tipped his head back and let the amber liquid run down his throat.

*******

To stop his gym membership from auto-renewing Crowley had to go cancel it in person. He considered just letting it renew so he wouldn’t have to risk accidentally running into Dean. It was a lot of money though, money that could be better spent on more booze, or even better, winter booties for Juliet. He also had the advantage of knowing Dean’s schedule, so knowing that–

“Stalking me again?”

–that Dean wouldn’t be at the gym on a Monday afternoon.

“I have a membership here.” He refused to react to Dean’s unexpected appearance in the gym lobby.

“Really?” Dean squinted. “I’ve never seen you here.”

 _Ah, so he didn’t spot all my surveillance then_.

“I don’t go often. I was about to cancel my membership. The moron,” he gestured to the empty desk, “told me twenty minutes ago he’d be back from the office, he had to check something apparently.”

“It’s a stalling technique to get people to stay,” Dean grinned. “Make it as awkward as possible to flee."

“You were… working out?” Crowley asked lamely. Dean was in red shorts, sneakers, a white polo shirt, and a red headband. On anyone else the outfit would look ridiculous.

“About to head to spin class – my first one – when I saw you, thought I’d come say hi. Someone told me recently I was boring so I thought I’d mix things up a bit.”

Crowley’s ears felt hot. He’d thought about Dean a lot. Thought about all the reasons he should stay away. And yet here he was.

“I meant to call you,” Crowley blurted. Dean was being nothing but polite. Somehow that made this harder.

“No problem, man. I get it.” Dean smiled and Crowley felt butterflies in his stomach.

“You could have called me,” he tried lamely.

“I don’t have your number, but since I know you had mine from the, you know, _investigating_. I just hoped. But it’s cool.”

Silence, more silence. The idiot at the front desk still wasn’t back.

“I’ve got to go,” Dean jabbed a thumb in the direction of the wooden doors behind them. “Class and all.”

“Dean, wait!” Crowley called. _Was there a chance? Was there a point in trying this?_

“Yeah?” Hope shone bright in Dean’s eyes.

_Yeah, there’s definitely a point in trying._

“If you’re free tonight, there’s a bar I know?” It wasn’t a question. Crowley knew it wasn’t a question. Why did this man make him feel so… feeling-y…

“Is this an apology for not calling me? Because really, if you’re not interested I can take it.”

“No. No. I was… busy, and, well. They have some good craft beers if you’re into that. Come have a few drinks and a good time.”

“Sounds good.” Dean smiled with some relief. “How about you pick me up at 8? Since you already know where I live.”

Crowley didn’t like the way Dean could joke about that. What was the alternative though? This was why you shouldn’t ever try to socialise with a mark.

 _Get it together,_ he told himself firmly. _He should be feeling lucky you’re even slightly interested._

“If you can handle an evening that’s not about beansprouts and realigning your chakras?”

“I’ll give it a good try.”

*******

Juliet whined when she saw he was dressing up to leave her.

“It’s not a date,” he told her. “It’s drinks with a man, there’s no need to pout.” He had on his favorite black-washed-to-gray tee, a pair of dark blue jeans, and his boots that just so happened to give him a little extra height boost.

Juliet looked up at him with sad eyes. Well, her normal eyes. Crowley sensed the sadness though.

“I’ll be home before you know it, love.” He reached down to pat her on the head, trying to keep his fur-free jeans away from her before they attracted any gray, hairy visitors. “I promise.”

Sometimes he wished his dog didn’t have such power over his emotion. At the same time, she reminded him he was human. She was his humanity.

He was still thinking of Juliet and trying to weigh up if he’d let her down by the time he reached Dean’s home to pick him up. Things were a little awkward on the drive over to the bar. Dean’s cologne wafted through the confined air of the car and Crowley suspected a trace would be left for days to come, which truthfully wasn’t a bad thought.

“A mechanical bull?” Dean questioned soon as they walked in the door.

Crowley shrugged. “Tonight’s actually karaoke but–”

“I’m not doing karaoke if that was your plan,” said Dean, shooting Crowley a horrified look at the thought of singing on a stage.

“You don’t have to,” Crowley chuckled leading them both to the bar. “It can be amusing though to watch. They have pool as well over there.”

“Now that sounds my kind of speed. Urgh, karaoke.” Dean shot a disgusted look in the direction of the stage and shivered slightly.

“ _They say we're young and we don't know! We won't find out until we growwwww. Well I don't know, if all that's true. 'Cause you got meeeeee, and baby I gotttt youuuuuuu_ …”

It turned out two beers with chasers and karaoke was _exactly_ Dean’s kind of thing. Unfortunately for Crowley and the others in the bar, Dean wasn’t all the great at it either. He also insisted on picking duets and kept trying to sing both sides.

When Crowley sensed a couple of the regulars were starting to get pissed off by the stage hog, he threw an arm over Dean’s shoulder and led him down from the small stage. Plonking Dean on a stool, Crowley kept his arm around Dean’s shoulders as it seemed in his somehow already inebriated state he might fall off the back of the stool otherwise. But more so because he just liked touching Dean. 

“I thought you didn’t like karaoke.”

“I don’t!” Dean sighed. “I do,” he finally admitted. “It just doesn’t….like me?”

Crowley found himself smiling. They’d tried a bit of pool, but it turned out Dean was even worse at that than he was at singing. Crowley had been playing a stranger when he’d first heard Dean strike up a cover of S _ummer Nights_ from “Grease”. It was an evening full of cringe and still, his heart fluttered happily. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let loose and had so much fun.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so much time with someone for something that wasn’t work related.

“I,” Dean paused to belch and then squinted, confused at his body’s own actions. “I once kissed a boy at summer camp, you know.”

“Oh? Just the one?” he lightly mocked.

Dean shrugged. “Took me until I met Stephen to realize I was bisexual and not just into kissing random guys.” Dean signaled to the bar tender and ordered another drink for himself. Crowley was still nursing his one glass of wine for the evening. “How about you?”

“I never really had to think about it. I just went for what I wanted.”

“Men?”

“Everything. Gender doesn’t matter to me.” It had frustrated him sometimes that he couldn’t quite figure out why he found some people attractive and others not. It went beyond just the physical, beyond genetics and was somewhere floating around an intangible concept. _Sapiosexual_ had been one term Crowley considered for a time and often went back to. He felt it probably was something like that, for if knowledge was power, well, power was attractive to Crowley.

“I spent $5000 on champagne to close a deal one time.”

“Um,” Crowley blinked. _That was a little abrupt?_ “How nice for you?”

Dean took a few mouthfuls of a new beer.

 _Why did he say that? What does that have to do with –_ Oh. _He’s trying to share his life with you, you ignoramus._

“I like this place because it reminds me of a dive I used to go to back home.” Back when it had been where he considered home. Now home was where ever Juliet was.

“A proper _pub_?” Dean asked in a terrible attempt at mimicking Crowley’s accent.

“I walked away from my life there, all my friends, most of my family. I don’t intend to ever see them again. But the pub? I miss the pub.”

The bar they were currently in wasn’t anything much special. It was too dark inside and the interior all smelt faintly of stale beer. But they always had a new activity each night so it was usually crowded enough to make you feel like you weren’t alone, even when you were. Considering his only true friend had four legs and a sensitive nose, he usually ended up at bars by himself.

“You said you were in recovery for a gambling addiction.” Dean sounded more sober as he spoke this time.

“Three years clean so far.”

Dean reached over to squeeze Crowley’s hand gently in his. “That’s amazing,” he smiled.

“I would have had enough money to buy this place, and many others, if I hadn’t of gotten sucked in.” He felt a familiar hollowness in his chest thinking about everything he’d lost. It wasn’t just money, it was people he thought were his friends for a long time and later realized only liked him because he got drawn into making bets. Into card games he had little chance of winning, but which he thought somehow he’d come out on top of.

“You can’t control what you did in your past, only what you’ll do with your future,” Dean added sagely.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Get that off a throw pillow?”

Dean finished his drink and said no more on the topic.

“Peanut?” Crowley offered, figuring he should help to dry Dean out a bit or the man would only suffer at work the next day. He wasn’t one for small talk and hadn’t liked the silence growing between them. Of course Dean hadn’t known the right thing to say about his gambling problems. Why would someone like Dean have any knowledge of dealing with such things?

“Too salty,” Dean cringed.

“You know it’s a scam. They’re _suppose_ d to be salty to make you drink more.” He took a few more and ate them happily. The bowl had been filled up fresh in front of him, or else he would have been more… picky.

“My dad only has one working kidney,” Dean said without prompt. “He had total kidney failure when I was in my teens, and got put on dialysis. Eventually he got a donor kidney and life went back to normal.”

“I had no idea.” Crowley hadn’t looked much into Dean’s family. They’d adopted him when he was four years old. Dean had a sister, Jo, who called him far more often than he called her. Other than that, Dean’s family life was a relative unknown to the detective. It wasn’t relevant to his life with his husband so Crowley never looked into it further.

“I looked after him for years. Mom worked full time, so I looked after dad and Jo. I had to monitor everything dad ate or drank, monitor for salt, water intake, proteins. There were always so many levels, so much to be done. Dad was, and still is, useless at keeping track of it all. If I hadn’t then there was no way to know what he’d put in his body.”

Crowley remembered being in his late teens. Having a knife put in his hands and told to keep it to the throat of someone who owed the family money. To keep the knife there until the man promised he’d pay.

“And the medication. He had to have his medication at specific times and if he didn’t, if we didn’t, there was always this looming threat of hospitalization. It wasn’t just the possibility of death, it was the hospital bills. They just kept growing and growing. I think the whole experience left me clinging to schedules, to regularity. I know to you I seem stuck in a rut, but that’s the only way I really know how to live.”

Even though the man had promised to pay, Crowley had still slit his throat. His father had told him it was the only way to teach a lesson to the others that owed them money.

“In the end, it was easier for me to go to college nearby. Then dad got a kidney transplant and I was able to go away to Stanford.”

They’d had clearly very different experiences growing up.

“That was… that was good of you.”

The doubt that had been teasing the edges of Crowley’s mind started growing roots. What was he doing here with a guy who had dedicated so much time just to take care of his family?

Dean picked up a single peanut and put it in his mouth. “It was nothing. You do anything for family, right?”

 _Yeah, including kill them when they get too much. When they lose their mind._ His mother had taught him that.

“I’m already on my second family,” Dean joked lamely. “Gotta take care of the one I have.”

“What happened to your birth parents?” The part of his mind that wanted to gather all information in case it had future potential needed to know.

“No idea.”

“Oh.”

“Ha,” Dean laughed hollowly. “Truthfully, I don’t remember much from before I ended up with Ellen, _Mom_.” Dean laughed again. “Sorry, I’m being a fun sponge – that’s what Jo always calls it.” He frowned and looked at his empty glass.

“No it’s… it’s good hearing about things.” But Dean still looked upset.

Crowley stuck up a hand to get the bartender’s attention. He ordered them two flaming shots and placed one in front of Dean.

“Drink this, and then let’s go howl at the moon.”

“You mean?” Dean nodded in the direction of the karaoke stage.

“I do a pretty good Ozzy Osbourne,” Crowley smirked.

*******

Crowley hadn’t expected to wake up in Dean’s bed a couple of hours later.

Which was weird since he could clearly recall Dean suggesting they leave, checking Dean was sober enough to make such decisions, ordering an Uber, arriving at Dean’s place, undressing, laughing, pleasure…

 _Clothes_.

His phone and wallet were bound to be in his pants, and more importantly, his keys too.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Dean slurred from the other side of the bed.

Crowley was yanking his pants up, hopping around and trying to locate his shirt. His head felt a little fuzzy, but Crowley was sure it was dehydration more than the effects of the alcohol. They’d managed to lose a lot of body fluid that evening.

“I have go.” He patted the pockets and found nothing there. “Where’s my stuff?”

Dean sat up and rested against his padded headboard. Only a sheet hid the goodies below his waist.

“Er… you left it on the side table near the door, your shoes too.” Dean observed Crowley hunting around in the dark for his socks so helpfully put on his bedside lamp. They both winced at the sudden light.

“You need to be somewhere?”

“I have to get back to Juliet,” Crowley said as he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on the one sock he could find.

“Oh.” Dean slumped back onto the bed. “Oh. I hadn’t realized you were seeing someone.” He sounded very robotic. Crowley didn’t like that. He’d finally proven for sure in the last couple of hours Dean wasn’t in fact a robot in a suit.

_Unless robots have improved to the point where they cum... which… no, nothing good comes from this line of thought. Focus, Crowley, focus._

“She needs me, I hadn’t intended to be out all night but–” Crowley stopped, taking in Dean's last words. “As in Juliet, my dog,” he explained, twisting to look at Dean.

“Oh!” Dean licked his lips and turned to face Crowley again. “Your dog.”

Standing up now nearly dressed apart from his shoes, Crowley looked over the bed. “Who did you think I was talking about?” he teased.

“I… um.”

“I don’t cheat – ever.” Even in times when he’d been with multiple people, it was with the consent and knowledge of all parties. Cheating was a hard no for Crowley.

Dean smiled up at him.

“Good, phew, good.” He watched Crowley do up his belt buckle. “Sorry if I was a little… rusty. I think next time we can, um...”

“You were fine,” Crowley smiled at him kindly. “Really, more than fine.”

“Good,” Dean grinned, a flush falling over his cheeks. His hair was gloriously ruffled in places from where he’d been writhing against his pillow earlier.

“Your car is at the bar still,” Dean reminded Crowley. “I’ll order you a cab to take you straight home so you can get back to her quicker. And... if you text me your address, I’ll come over before work tomorrow and take you back to the bar so you can get your car back?"

Crowley remembered the ride they’d shared to Dean’s place. Where Dean had kept trying to sing and the only way Crowley could shut him up _unfortunately_ was to keep kissing him. He’d laughed more during that journey than he had in a long time. They’d been so perfectly in sync with the needs of each other the whole evening after they’d finished their karaoke. It was like singing together had unlocked something Crowley couldn’t put a name to.

“That would be… amazing. I really have to go, poor Juliet has been by herself for hours now, or I would stay, I promise.” And he meant it.

“Go, but I want to meet this Juliet some day. I always wanted a dog, you know,” Dean smiled sleepily at Crowley and poked at his phone a few times to order a car. “They should be here in fifteen.”

Crowley smiled back at Dean, heart fluttering, eyes crinkling with a smile. “Bye, Dean.”

“Bye,” Dean called back, already half asleep again now his car duty was finished. He snuggled back into his very comfortable bed – the comfort of which Crowley could now personally attest to.

Crowley easily found his personal effects on the side table Dean had mentioned and slipped out of the apartment.

Crowley stood outside the building, swaying a little on his feet, just enjoying the sensation of the cool night breeze on his face while he waited for the car to turn up. He could see from where he stood the spot he’d parked his car when he’d been surveying Dean. It was funny seeing things from the other side.

_Sometimes the grass really is greener on the other side._

Though Crowley knew he wasn’t out of his mind drunk, he felt a little like he must be. The giddiness was there, a sense of peace he normally only found in heavy intoxication.

Neither of them had anticipated the evening ending as it had, but Crowley was very glad it had. It just felt so _right_ and he was tired of analyzing everything he did. Tired of trying to figure out everything he did three steps ahead of time. For once he’d just let himself _feel_ and be guided by his emotions, by his desires. 

The ride back to his home seemed to take no time at all, so lost in thought of the sensations, lost in remembering Dean. Lost in thinking hopefully about what else might yet be.

“Juliet, daddy’s home!” He called out softly, aware of his neighbors’ sensitive ears.

He’d expected Juliet to come bounding up the moment she heard his hand on the door handle, so it was a little surprising when she hadn’t.

“Juliet?” he called again, stepping into his apartment, wondering if she was just asleep somewhere and hadn’t heard him.

“Juliet!” he shouted this time, neighbors be damned.

But Juliet was not there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some problems sectioning this fic up as most of the action takes place in this chunk and in the third chunk. But I needed the first chapter to set everything up. I hope this didn't come off as too much of a handbrake turn in terms of narrative. My original hope was to post the entire fic at once in order to negate my own flaws in planning. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliet's missing and Crowley's gonna find her, come hell or high water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! I finished writing this thing of thingness. 
> 
> I am shocked at myself how much longer it took to write than anticipated. The final chapter ended up being over 13,000 words so I've split it in two and this fic now has four chapters. In my mind when I was planning it all out it was going to be around 4,000. But I realised I needed extra scenes to explain a few things.

**Previously on _The Millionaire English Investigator..._**

_“Juliet, daddy’s home!” He called out softly, aware of his neighbors’ sensitive ears._

_He’d expected Juliet to come bounding up the moment she heard his hand on the door handle, so it was a little surprising when she hadn’t._

_“Juliet?” he called again, stepping into his apartment, wondering if she was just asleep somewhere and hadn’t heard him._

_“Juliet!” he shouted this time, neighbors be damned._

_But Juliet did not appear._

 

* * *

“JULIET!”

It is incredible how quickly the body can shift into the fight or flight response. How panic and stress can kick systems deemed unnecessary offline without any conscious thought needed.

“JULIET!”

His ears were pounding while his stomach swooped at the sudden redistribution of blood.

“JULIET!”

Crowley stormed into his bedroom and yanked off the sheets off the bed. His bed was where she still preferred to sleep most of the time, despite having a very plush memory foam dog bed to herself now. The sheets didn’t hide her though. He checked around his bed and still couldn’t see her. Throwing open the doors of his closet, it quickly became clear she wasn’t in the bedroom.

He moved into the bathroom wondering if she’d jumped into the bath – she did love baths. But she wasn’t in there, she wasn’t in the kitchen, she wasn’t in his living room, she wasn’t… she wasn’t _anywhere_.

His hands were shaking as he clenched them tight. Now was not the time to fall apart.

_The security camera_ , he thought. That would have answers as to who had taken her.

It took three attempts to type his password into his laptop before he got it right.

While a camera outside his apartment door would be more useful, Crowley hadn’t been allowed to install one. He’d settled for what he could do and had installed one on the inside of his apartment, pointing at the internal-side of the door. For everything he liked about his building, including its lax policy on pets, he was still annoyed about the camera thing.

Crowley opened the footage from the last twelve hours and dragged the cursor back to the time he left that night. With the footage on x3 speed, he hit play. He watched as his past self left and then waited to see who came in and just how they managed to get Juliet out.

His door hadn’t been damaged, he would have noticed that much even in his post-Dean happy state when he’d entered.

The footage continued until… until...

_What?_

Around an hour after he’d left, Juliet was nosing up against the door, nosing the handle, when it just... opened. Crowley watched as she just wandered out.

Frowning, Crowley went back to when he’d left the apartment.

_How did the door open like that?_ Juliet opening the door handle was one thing – she’d done that accidentally before – but the door was locked. Someone must have opened it from the outside. Picked the lock in fact, since no one else had a spare key to his apartment. And… and then what? Did they stand outside hoping the dog just so happened to be able to open the door handle?

_Ah_. _Unless…_

Turning up the volume as loud as possible, and slowing down the clip, Crowley shut his eyes and listened to the noises he’d made while exiting the room.

There wasn’t a click of a lock that he could make out. There was nothing to indicate he had locked the door at all. There was always a click with this lock, it was old and didn’t fit well. He had to struggle with that thing every time he’d left.

_I didn’t_ _lock the door?_

It wasn’t on an automatic latch. He’d kept meaning to install one himself, but the neighborhood was safe enough and he had latches and chains on the inside. Plus this way, he could never accidentally lock himself out of the apartment – important when you don’t trust anyone to give them a spare key. When you had a dog as big as Juliet inside, it tended to make thieves reluctant to enter the apartment.

Crowley dropped his head into his hands. Everything was his fault. Juliet going missing was _his_ fault because he’d been too nervous, too excited, just to damn distracted to remember to do something as simple as _lock his own fucking front door_.

He took took a few steps into the hallway when he realized he’d have a better chance of getting her back with food. Jogging back to the kitchen, Crowley picked up a couple of Juliet’s favorite treats and her leash. That the leash was still there calmed him slightly. If she had been taken, it seemed unlikely they’d have left without the leash? Unless they had one with them. _Fuck_.

His mind spat out a thousand different scenarios in the time it took to the elevator to get to the first floor to exit the building.

The park seemed the most logical direction to go in first. Juliet was used to going in that path on their walks, and if she had gotten out of the building then she would be heading there. If animal control had picked her up, she was at least microchipped and he should be able to claim her in the morning.

He was busy thinking through further plans for tracking down his best friend when he heard a bark.

“Juliet!”

Another bark – definitely her. He moved in the direction of the noise.

Number 4 opened up her door a tiny crack, which was just enough for Juliet to install herself in, pry the door open wider, and go flying out to meet Crowley.

“Juliet,” he mumbled into her fur, kneeling down to hug the dog properly.

“I wondered when you’d be getting back.” Crowley only knew the older lady by sight. “I found her wandering around the building earlier. I recognized her being with you all the time, thought I’d take her back to your apartment but no one was in. Door was slightly open though, but didn’t look like anything had been taken so I thought it was best I keep her in case she got out again. I’ve been keeping an ear out for you, thought you’d be home at some point.”

“Thank you,” he muttered gruffly, pressing his forehead to the top of Juliet’s head, not really listening to what she was saying. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t want to see any harm coming to her,” she smiled at him kindly. “I used to have a dog myself, but my ex won custody.” She reached out to pat Juliet on the head.

Crowley stood up properly and attached the leash to Juliet’s collar.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said earnestly, heart stumbling at the sudden change in emotion from pure panic to confused relief.

“You’re welcome young man. Truth be told, I never could resist a pretty lady.” Juliet licked the woman’s hand as she patted her goodbye.

“If there’s ever anything I can do, just ask.” His heart was starting to slow down at last.

When he got back to his apartment, he made sure to lock and put the security chain on the door. Tomorrow he was going to fit another lock high up that would self close. The risk of being locked out was worth the peace of mind.

Going out on dates was bad news, especially if it led to him forgetting something as simple as locking a fucking door. And by that logic, Dean Smith, cause of his distraction, was–

Crowley’s phone dinged.

 

**Received** **2:45 am**

Dean Smith ~ stole your number ;)

 

**Received** **2:46 am**

Dean Smith ~ I should be sleeping

 

**Received** **2:46 am**

Dean Smith ~ Tonight was… awesome. Thanks

 

**Received** **2:49 am**

Dean Smith ~ Let’s do it again sometime?

 

His chest felt tight. His fingers danced over the message delete button. This could all be undone, this could all go away.

 

**Sent** **3:14** **am**

You ~ Next time you’re paying. Again.

 

**Received** **3:15 am**

Dean Smith ~ ;) Deal

*******

It seemed typical that when for the first time in years Crowley wanted to spend time with another human, he was suddenly inundated with work. He’d never had so many consultations, so many inquires for his services. For the first time since he’d launched his business, he found himself regularly turning away cases for the fact that he was too inundated, instead of just because he didn’t want to take them.

Dean and Crowley had managed to fit plenty of time in together since their first could-it-be-labeled-a-date?-date, with lunches, walks in the early evening, dinners out, lazy evenings in. Dean had even gotten to mete Juliet and hear all about how she’d nearly given Crowley a heart attack when she’d escaped.

Long work hours had stopped them from spending the whole night together again since the first time. That was, until one Tuesday evening in early August, five weeks to the day he’d first gone to Dean’s diner with him.

“You are never going to get _all_ of that in your mouth.”

Dean was about to choke on his own hubris and Crowley refused to move a muscle to stop him.

“Ess I con,” Dean garbled.

“Well, I have to admit, it is hot seeing you like this.”

Dean winked at Crowley and relaxed his jaw a little more.

Crowley’s car wasn’t the best place for this, but he was on a stakeout and they’d wanted to spend some time together so…

“I still can’t believe you brought a full hamper of food with you. We’re only going to be here a few hours.”

Dean was happily chewing on his gluten-free footlong sandwich so held up a finger to silently ask Crowley to wait a moment while he kept on chewing. Crowley knew it had been too big of a bite. Dean’s cheeks were fully expanded giving him the appearance of a squirrel.

“Why not? If we're gonna be here a while, might as well be comfortable,” Dean answered after finally finishing his first bite.

“Is that _prosciutto_? What, no champagne?” Crowley was still poking around the basket finding something he could snack on.

“I thought it would be too distracting.” Dean shrugged and took another bite of sandwich.

“Having you here is distracting.” His heart jumped a bit as he realized just how _flirty_ that had come out instead of annoyed. But he couldn’t be annoyed, he was enjoying himself too much.

Dean leaned in and pecked him briefly on the lips before going back to the last bit of his food.

“Why would _I_ be distracting?” Dean licked his lip and sighed the contented sigh of a fed person. “Besides, with two of us there’s double the eyes. That must make up for it?”

Crowley rolled his eyes but he felt peaceful, which wasn’t the norm on a stakeout. Usually he felt a little on edge, constantly having to be aware in case his target left the house or someone called the cops on him.

Hanging out in Crowley’s crappy car wouldn’t be many people’s idea of a fun night out. It really wasn’t Crowley’s idea of a good time and he was being paid for it. Dean had been keen to get together and had seemed sad when Crowley said he had to work. When Crowley had explained he had to go check out someone for a client, Dean had invited himself along.

If Crowley had his car detailed and bought a new air freshener just because Dean was coming too, that was his own business.

“I was talking to Sam about you. You know Sam, the one you thought I was sleeping with?” Dean lightly teased.

“It seemed a fair guess at the time, you are weirdly close.”

Dean ignored that. “He said he’d be interested in hiring you to track down his birth parents. I know you’ve been extra busy lately, but you’re the only one I’d recommend.”

“Give him my number and we can set something up.”

“Thanks,” Dean shot him a grin before biting into a crispy, juicy, organic apple he’d brought along. “What’s this guy meant to have done?” he asked between bites.

“Stolen money, a lot of money, from someone I know.”

“How’s sitting here going to help you determine if the money is stolen?”

“I know a lot of people. My client wants to see if I recognize any of the visitors this gentlemen might receive today. If I do, we’ll find out if he’s buying anything illicit, anything he shouldn’t be able to afford.”

“So, you are basically their human facial recognition software and database of local black-market merchants rolled into one?”

“Something like that...” Crowley trailed off as he observed a new man park up and get out of a Dodge Charger. He walked up to the door of the house they were looking at and rang the door bell.

“Do you know him? He doesn’t look like a criminal.”

Crowley stayed quiet while he observed the man, trying to figure out if he did know him. When the other guy went into the home, Crowley sighed and sat back in his seat.

“No, damn. That would have been a quick win. And besides, _doesn’t look like a criminal_? Do you think all criminals have eye patches and manbuns? Some clearly recognizable uniform?”

Dean was too busy looking at the newcomers car to snark back. He tried looking through the binoculars Crowley had on him, but at 11 at night there wasn’t enough light to make them all that useful.

“Dude’s a cop,” Dean concluded after a moment.

“Why do you think that?” It was now Crowley’s turn to squint at the car.

“That’s the most popular model for cops in this area, maybe the state. I read a lot about car buying habits of people in different professions when I was studying. Got pretty into it at one point.”

“Huh.”

“So is he undercover or corrupt?”

“Is the car worth much?” Crowley asked, trusting Dean’s opinion on such things. He himself only had a vague idea.

Dean thought a moment and shook his head. “Nah, not really.”

Crowley’s hand slipped to his ignition. “Then we need to get out of here. If they have an undercover cop on the scene, we don’t want to be involved.” He manoeuvred the car out of the street and turned, automatically heading for Dean’s place to drop him off.

"Sorry this wasn’t exactly most people’s idea of fun."

"Stuffing my face and talking with you is sort of my idea of fun. I would have spent the evening rearranging my books otherwise. I think you over estimate the fun factor in doing regular people activities."

Crowley had no suitable reply to that. Perhaps he did. But he’d also never really spent much time doing _regular people activities_ so he wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“Gonna come back to mine and finish the rest of the picnic with me? Maybe stay for a coffee?” Dean licked his lips.

Crowley winced. “I’ve got to get a report written up for a client by tomorrow, and a pile of other paperwork.” Being this busy was playing hell on his personal life, but his bank account hadn’t looked so healthy in years. “How about lunch tomorrow?" he suggested, not wanting to sound like he was fobbing Dean off. Though if anyone could understand and appreciate the importance of paperwork, Dean Smith could.

"I have a gym class,” Dean sighed. “But,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, “I can skip it, will skip it, if you come to the movies with me Friday. There's this German arthouse film I want to see."

Crowley cringed and steeled himself to accept nonetheless. _Arthouse, urgh_.

"Which looks like it would be perfect for making out during. I’ve always wanted to try that," Dean finished, shooting Crowley a saucy wink.

He pretended to consider the proposition for a moment while Dean watched, a smile tugging at his lips.

"It's a date.”

*******

Sam Wesson had an air about him that suggested to Crowley he’d spent his adulthood being too big for the spaces he was in. There was a cautiousness to the way he moved, and a resigned sigh when he sat down on the stupidly low coffee shop chair that forced his knees up so high he was nearly bent in half. He had a calm presence about him though and Crowley could see why Dean would like this guy. Sam was the kind of person Crowley expected most people just trusted the instant they met him, in the same way someone might trust a puppy. Which was exactly the same reason Crowley was instantly suspicious.

It had been a week since Dean had first mentioned his friend wanting to reconnect with his birth parents. Sam had asked that they meet in person as he said he’d rather talk about his case face-to-face.

"Sam, Sam Wesson. Good to meet you in person at last. You look different in person compared to the photo Dean sent me."

Crowley frowned. “Photo?” What photo did Dean even have of him? They hadn’t taken any photos.

Sam grinned and grabbed his phone. He pressed a few things on the screen before turning it to Crowley who instantly groaned with despair.

“He sent you _that_?” They were going to have words. Words that ended in wordiness over this. Though Crowley felt a blissful warmth remembering the evening.

“Yee haw, cowboy,” Sam chuckled. “He said he didn’t have any other photos of you.” Sam had a devious grin on his face.

“He has a… thing,” Crowley said, trying to dismiss the conversation. “With cowboys. It was his idea.” Crowley felt an urge to scratch his beard

“I didn’t know,” Sam laughed softly. “Anyway,” he cleared his throat, suddenly serious. “Thanks again for meeting me here. I have a meeting in an hour and wouldn’t have made it back in time. I didn’t know quitting my job at Sandover was going to make me _more_ busy.”

"You left Sandover?" He hadn’t been there very long, what could have possibly happened to make him quit already?

"Dean didn't mention it? I'm doing freelance work these days. It's been crazy busy. I shouldn't complain I guess, not many can say that so soon into going freelance.”

The coffee shop was the other side of town to Crowley's office. He wouldn't normally have traveled out for a meeting, but Sam was the closest friend Dean had. It usually proved beneficial to play nice with the friends of the person you were… something-ing with…

Even in his own mind Crowley couldn’t attach a label that seemed fitting to what he had with Dean.

"Dean said you were interested in finding your birth parents," Crowley interjected, hoping to get them back on track.

"Ah..." Sam ran fingers through his hair. "Well, not... really?"

"Oh?"

"Is this confidential?"

_Will you tell Dean?_ was the obvious translation.

"Yes, of course, complete client—investigator confidentiality."

"My ex-fiancée, Madison. I thought she was ghosting me, now I'm worried she might be in trouble. Look, I didn't want to tell Dean as it probably looks, ahem, creepy. She broke up with me with no explanation. Just packed her bags and left one day."

Maybe Sam’s ex and Dean had something in common. Maybe it was something in the water.

"People do just get bored sometimes," Crowley cautioned.

"Yeah, I know, I know. But I'm just concerned, I'm not trying to get her back – I swear. I just want you to check she's okay."

Crowley pulled out his tablet to start taking details down. “I’ll need some basic information, last known address if you have it would be useful.”

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, no problem. I don’t need details of whatever she’s doing, just… just let me know if she’s safe?”

Sam Wesson had the hangdog puppy look down, that was for sure.

“Shouldn’t be more than a few hours’ work,” Crowley reassured him in the tone he’d cultivated for talking to worried customers. “I’ll get in touch then when I find something.”

Sam’s dimples flashed as he smiled, looking relieved. “Thank you, thank you.”

*******

Crowley only briefly considered telling Dean Sam’s true intent for wanting to meet him. But at the heart of the matter was Crowley’s professional integrity, and if he didn’t allow himself that, he didn’t feel like he’d have much else.

Dean was hanging out at Crowley’s apartment for the evening. It was the first time they’d really spent an evening in Crowley's apartment that didn't move straight away into sex. 

When Dean had revealed in a text message earlier in the week he’d never seen _Die Hard_ , Crowley had insisted on a movie night.

Dean shifted on the couch again. Crowley tightened a fist around his pint glass a little firmer so it didn’t go flying with Dean’s accidental jostling.

A few minutes later Dean sighed and rearranged himself again.

Nearly half a bottle of wine into the evening, Dean didn’t seen any calmer than he’d been when he’d arrived at Crowley’s home.

Crowely wondered if something had happened at work. It wasn’t like Dean to fidget like this.

“More wine?” he offered, seeing Dean’s empty glass.

The bottle was on a side cabinet a few steps away. Most people might have had it on a coffee table nearer, but most people didn’t have to worry about Juliet knocking everything down with her tail at the first hint of excitement.

“No, I’m good.” Dean shifted again. And again. And again.

“Something wrong with the couch?” Crowley asked in a pained voice with a very forced smile plastered on.

“Same as last time I was here right? Seems fine?” Dean was clearly confused.

Crowley paused the movie. “You seem… unsettled.”

“I’m just,” Dean sighed again and went to take a drink from his now empty glass before realizing what he had done. “I had a meeting with Stephen today and our lawyers to discuss things.”

“Oh?” Crowley was well aware of Dean’s ongoing divorce but it wasn’t something they talked about. It weirded Crowley out a little bit, if truth be told.

“Not going well?” He aimed for gentle, even if inside he was recoiling from wanting to hear more. It was in Crowley’s nature to want to get as much information out of people as possible. Information was power. But thinking of the divorce reminded Crowley of just how he had met Dean in the first place, of all the potential complications that could arise should Mr. Arawn discover what had happened since.

“I thought it would be a clean split, is all.”

“Is he asking for financial support?” It seemed unlikely. Crowley had barely looked into Dean’s still-technical-husband but it hadn’t taken much to find out the man had enough money that the idea of him taking spousal support from Dean was laughable.

“That’s the weird thing! And I can’t work it out. He wants me to have all these things that are really his, like our summer home in the Hamptons. I told him he could keep it but he said it was rightfully mine and he doesn’t want it when I picked it out. On top of that he wants me to take a monthly stipend. _I_ left _him_ , he shouldn’t be paying out.”

"You’re turning down assets he wants to give you?"

"Sounds dumb, huh? But I worry if I don’t make a clean break from him, well…”

Crowley’s heart jumped. “Worry that you’ll go back to him?” It happened. Crowley had seen it happen. Big dramatic breakups but the couple reconciled and got back together. Though, just as often, the cheater would cheat again and they’d break up again.

“I just worry about the influence he might have over me.” Dean let out another frustrated sigh and slumped forwards, putting his head in his hands, fingers entwined with in his hair. “I like this.” Dean said with conviction after a pause. “I like sitting on a couch with you watching _Die Hard_. I like not being at work, or at home on my own doing yet more work.”

"That’s… good?” Crowley was thrown off course. Dean had grown up in a much more traditionally ‘normal’ environment to Crowley. Nothing made this more apparent to Crowley than Dean’s ability to discuss his feelings.

Juliet spotted Dean’s upset and came over to nose at him. He stroked her gently, still slumped in his seat.

“It’s like no one ever gives you love, isn’t it Juliet?” Dean whispered conspiratorially to the dog. “Does your mean dad ignore you?”

“Hideously,” Crowley rolled his eyes, silently feeling more pleased by the interaction between Dean and Juliet than anything else he’d seen that day. “If you don’t want anything to do with him, just keep declining. You’ll come to an agreement eventually.” Crowley wasn’t sure exactly how divorce law worked in their state, but it seemed unlikely one partner could force assets on the other.

“Yeah,” Dean hummed. He ran a hand down Juliet’s back.

Dean still hadn’t figured out that no matter how much love and attention Juliet received, she was always going to want more. The dog had come to love him already in the short amount of time they’d spent together.

“You know,” Dean shot Crowley a sly look and placed his hands over Juliet’s ears. “I’d totally blow you right now if she wasn’t sitting right at our feet.”

“I’d let you too,” Crowley moved closer to Dean and leaned in to kiss him. It didn’t take long before Dean’s shoulders were finally relaxing slightly, for the first time that evening. Crowley let himself indulge in the softness of Dean’s skin, in the traces of beard burn he could leave behind on the younger man’s upper lip.

“Bedroom?” Dean breathed into Crowley’s ear. He’d learned after his first time at Crowley’s apartment that they had to keep a door between them and Juliet or she got confused and worried. Pre-theatre blow job had turned into an awkward game with Juliet around.

Crowley kissed Dean’s neck gently, just below his right ear, celebrating the way Dean always shivered when he was touched there.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Crowley whispered huskily, hand placed strategically on Dean’s upper thigh, running his thumb on the inside seam of Dean’s pants.

“Uh huh,” Dean panted, pupils blown.

“Shame about the time.” Crowley pulled back.

“Huh?” Dean frowned slightly.

“Time for Juliet’s evening walk.” Crowley stood up, leaving behind a dazed and confused Dean.

“What?”

“Walkies, Juliet!”

Juliet didn’t need telling twice and barked with joy, tail whipping back and forth, demonstrating beautifully why Crowley didn’t dare have any low tables around. Nothing was safe from that excited waggle.

Crowley clipped on her leash. “Coming?”

“I wish,” Dean mumbled. “Give me a sec,” he sighed. Eventually he stood and pulled on his shoes.

Though the height of summer had come and gone, it remained respectably light enough outside in the evening still that Crowley hadn’t bothered bringing a flashlight with them. When winter came back around it was a required item for the evening walk.

“That was cruel. You knew it was nearly time for her walk.” Dean was pouting.

“Yeah, but seeing you rumpled and annoyed is too good an opportunity to pass up.”

Dean chuckled at that. “I’m going to get you back you know.”

“I’m hoping for it,” Crowley dared.

They walked in peace to the park where Crowley unclipped Juliet’s leash and the dog went tearing off after some invisible thing.

“She’s a clever cover.”

“Cover?”

“No one looks at you when you’re with a large, gorgeous dog. All those people we just passed? Their eyes went straight to her. Totally missed the awesome dudes walking with her.”

It was true but, “She’s not a cover.” Crowley was a little offended. “Never has been. I keep Juliet separate from my work, or try to, at least.” Which wasn’t to say she couldn’t be useful, but he would never purposefully entangle her in that side of things.

“Huh.”

Juliet ran back to them and sat down, panting, before she started to nose Crowley’s coat pocket.

“I have nothing for you,” he lied. She whined a little so he eventually stopped teasing and drew a ball from his pocket. Crowley shifted his weight from his hind leg to his front and used the momentum to let rip with the ball. Juliet happily went bounding after it.

“Sorry ‘bout before.” Dean was looking ahead, avoiding Crowley’s eyes.

“Divorces are hard,” Crowley forced himself to reply. He wanted the topic to go away. He didn’t want to keep mulling over the actions and motivations of Dean Smith.

“Moving on is hard, I know that.” Dean sighed. “It’s taken me a long time to the get to the point where I felt like I could, you know?”

Blood was rushing to Crowley’s ears. It felt a little like he was under water. Dean needed a shoulder to cry on. But… but…

_How can I save him from this when the only thing I’ve ever managed to save is Juliet? And she did most of the saving there._

Juliet ran back to them, ball firmly in her jaws. Dean laughed and went to grab it.

“You have to release the ball if you want me to throw it again,” he told the dog affectionately. She eventually relented and Crowley enjoyed the laugh Dean let out when he threw it for her. Dean wiped his drool-covered hand on his pants.

“Ever wish you were a dog? To have that much joy just from fetching a ball.”

_Never_ , he thought firmly. No thought was needed on that. He’d seen too many mistreated animals to ever think his luck would be good enough to have a decent human companion.

“If you’re worried about him, I know people, Dean.” Crowley had been thinking about it. Thinking about offering help. This was as close as he could get to saying outright that he had a feeling he knew exactly the kind of person Dean’s husband was, of alerting Dean to what kind of person he himself was.

“People?”

Aunt Amara, Crowley wanted to say, but that hardly covered who she was or what she was to him. Or the bigger problems involved in asking her for favors.

It might be worth it for Dean. Possibly. Juliet did really like him.

Dean thought on it a moment and shook his head. “I should just lighten up. Work less. You were right the first time. He can’t force assets on me.”

Crowley threw the ball again for Juliet.

“Ever been to the Poconos?” Dean asked, apropos of nothing Crowley could figure out.

“No…” Crowley wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Think Juliet might be up for a trip near Christmas?”

Was that an invite? Didn’t Dean spend Christmas with his family? Was Dean expecting to _introduce_ Crowley to his family? Normal people might just ask, but Crowley considered himself extraordinary.

“You’d have to ask her. She does have a very busy schedule.”

Dean chuckled at that. “Hey Juliet, hey girl,” he called to her. She came back over, ball still in her mouth. “Let me know if you’re free in November, okay?” he asked her, she waged her tail and butted her head against his thigh. “If I can figure out stuff at work first, I guess.”

Crowley suspected that meant he’d have to come up with an answer at some point, assuming Dean wasn’t seriously inviting just his dog on holiday. For now though, Dean seemed content to just walk around the park in silence.

_Is it possible to fall in love with comfortable silences?_

“You know,” Dean suddenly announced, “I lied before.”

Crowley’s heart jumped. It took him a couple of tries to get the attachment on the leash through the d-ring on Juliet’s collar for their walk back.

“You mean those _aren’t_ natural?” He let his gaze slip to Dean’s chest. “Pec implants. Knew it.”

“About having never seen _Die Hard_. Totally seen it, ten times at least. We don’t really need to finish watching it.”

“What?” Crowley asked confused. He turned his head to stare at Dean. “Why would you lie about…”

The tips of Dean’s ears were red.

“What’s your favorite part about the ending? Confetti parade or when the son and mom hug and he vomits on her?”

“Um… the part where he’s cleaning his gun,” Dean scratched his neck. “Always found it very homoerotic.“

"Just before John McClane and Gruber make out?”

“Yes,” Dean agreed without any shame.

“I have no idea what kind of porn parodies you’ve been watching, but,” Crowly broke off laughing which triggered Dean to laugh too.

“We can finish off tomorrow if you wanted to get back to the other activity?” Crowley said with a fair guess in mind what Dean was up to. Dean was pretty transparent at times.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“The movie isn’t going anywhere.” Unconsciously Crowley’s stride was lengthening, pace picking up.

“Awesome,” Dean beamed. “I like this,” he said with another laugh, one Crowley might be tempted to deem a giggle.

_Me too_ , Crowley wanted to add again. But didn’t.

Crowley was awake until the small hours that night mulling over the best way to open a conversation with Aunt Amara and why he needed her help. Why Dean deserved her protection. Crowley couldn’t shake the feeling that Dean was being naive about things. It hadn’t felt right to reveal this to the other man though and potentially worry him further. On top of that, Crowley still had only a vague idea about the sorts of things Dean’s husband might be into.

Dean had left a few hours earlier, citing an early morning and lack of spare clothes at Crowley’s place. Juliet was asleep on the couch allowing Crowley, for the first time in a long time, maximum sprawl space for once.

It was still in the back of Crowley’s mind to contact Aunt Amara two days later when he had another meeting scheduled across town with Sam Wesson.

Sam’s ex-fiancée's disappearance hadn’t been hard to figure out. She’d entered a rehab facility in her home town one state over.

“I’m just… I can’t believe it, _Madison_ has a substance abuse problem? She never missed a day of work in her life though.”

“It’s more common than you think, functional drug addiction.”

“I should have seen _something_ though. I should have tried to help her.”

Sam’s shock quickly answered Crowley’s question about if Sam had any idea about his ex-finance's problems.

“She’s getting the help now she needs now. You can’t be all things to all people.”

“Yeah, yeah I guess.” Sam was lost in thought but that was his issue. Crowley’s job was done for now. “I’ll send you the final bill tonight, and if you did ever want to find your biological parents, give me a call.”

Sam nodded numbly.

_Was that a suitable birthday gift for Dean?_ Crowley wondered as he gathered his things and exited the coffee shop.

He tried to play the scene out in his head. Handing Dean a box of paperwork about his biological parents. He couldn’t think of a satisfactory conclusion as to how Dean would react though. And besides that, it was probably thinking too far ahead. Who knew what might be in four months’ time?

Crowely was hopeful though, quietly so. They could make it to January, right?

It seemed like fate that just as he was thinking of Dean the man should appear out of the doorway of a restaurant down the street from the coffee shop Crowley had been meeting Sam in.

Dean didn’t spot Crowley, too focused on the people following him out of the restaurant.

A man in a baseball cap wheeled himself out followed by brunette and then by… by…

Dean’s technically-still-married husband.

Crowley stopped and took a step back closer to the coffee shop.

Mr. Arawn leaned in to hug Dean’s mother good bye and shook hands with the man Crowley recognized to be Dean’s father. His mother, Ellen, hugged and kissed Dean. Bobby pulled Dean down for a quick hug as well.

The Smiths then left and headed up the street to the parking lot where Crowley was also parked.

Still he stood and watched Dean and Mr. Arawn.

They both seemed awfully relaxed while they talked. It was the complete opposite of what Crowley would expect their interactions to be like in light of Dean’s recent agitation. Dean tipped his head back in laughter at something Mr. Arawn had said. Dean touched Mr. Arawn’s arm and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Mr. Arawn pulled him closer and kissed him fondly on the forehead.

It was at this moment Crowley’s ex-client spotted him down the street. It was hard to be certain from the distance they were at, but Crowley could swear he saw a smirk on the old man’s face as he pulled Dean in for a hug, resting a hand on the back of Dean’s head briefly as Dean’s head rested in the crook of his neck.

A black town car with tinted windows pulled up to the curb and Mr. Arawn got into the back, sparing one last quick glance in Crowley’s direction as he did so. Dean waved the car farewell then walked away from Crowley and towards the direction his office was in.

The bell on the coffee shop door behind him rang but Crowley was still startled when Sam walked into him.

“Oh, hi, um, sorry.” Sam took a step back. “Didn’t see you there. Sorry,” Sam winced.

“No… no problem.” Crowley’s voice sounded hollow to even him. He felt like it was coming from elsewhere. “Bye,” he murmured and walked off, not wanting to get into a conversation with a near stranger.

The image of Dean hugging his husband was burned into his mind.

_I’m being played_. He was finally certain of this.

He’d walked right into it, played right into their hands.

There was at least one bottle of Jameson in his kitchen cupboard. Even though it was miles away it was calling to him so sweetly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Crowley, I really, really love Crowley. Please be assured I want nothing but the best for him - we can work on an assumption that things aren't what they seem, right? Eek, hopefully I'm not putting anyone off with this chapter ending. 
> 
> The last chapter is ready and I'm about to upload that as well. Soon everything shall be revealed...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a few decisions that he needs to make about his future, and fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me if you have made it to this chapter. This is very nearly the longest piece I've ever written I think in the 16 years I've been writing fanfic, ah! And it is the longest I've ever posted. Even if no one but myself ever reads this far I'm really happy I wrote it. A huge, huge thanks to all those who have encouraged me along the way. 
> 
> I did have to push the rating up for a scene in this. It's near the start and you can skip it if that's not your kind of thing. I hadn't been anticipating anything like that, but the guys insisted. 
> 
> The fic ended up being split into four chapters instead of three. I'm uploading both tonight but if you haven't already read Chapter 3 that went up a little while ago, you might want to or this won't make that much sense.

Crowley’s head was pounding. Obviously somehow rats had gnawed their way in and were trying to get out again. That was the only logical conclusion.

Day one post Dean was spent in a haze of booze. Day two, in a self-pitying slump. Day three… Day three Crowley kicked himself up the backside and went into the office, despite the hangover that begged him just to stay home.

 _So what if he’s a dick? I had my fun._ His _actions don’t mean_ my _feelings weren’t real._

Crowley knew he had work to do, important work. Figuring out what Dean and Mr. Arawn had been up to was of top priority. What did they have to gain in getting close to him?

Some way through the morning he’d dozed off at his desk only to be woken up by knocking at his door.

Bleary-eyed and legs wobbling, Crowley made his way over to his office door and opened it up.

“What?” he growled.

“You live!” Dean perked up. “I was… I was getting worried.”

Crowley shot him a disgusted look and walked back to his desk. If he was going to have this conversation he was going to do it while sat down so he wouldn’t literally vomit all over Dean.

Dean was dressed in running gear, including his ridiculous red sweat bands.

“Did your phone break?” He followed Crowley into the office and stood before the desk.

“No.” Crowley spat back.

“Oh.” Dean looked around the office. “This place is cool.”

“It’s a dump.”

Dean bit his lip and shifted from foot to foot.

“Look, I don’t know what’s happened but I really was worried. I haven’t heard from you in four days.”

“I’m a busy man,” Crowley retorted in a steely voice.

“I get that, I’m not doubting that,” Dean assured him.

Crowley’s neck was throbbing from falling asleep in his desk chair.

Dean cleared his throat. “How’s… how’s things?”

Crowley shrugged.

“I could help with marketing for this place if you ever wanted.” Dean wandered around inspecting the office further, stopping to look at the range of knick-knacks on top of Crowley’s filing cabinets.

“Your plant’s dying,” Dean noted, prodding at the now very brown and dry spider plant.

 _It’s supposed to be dying_ , Crowley thought. _I like watching it die._

Dean unscrewed the top on the reusable glass bottle he’d been carrying in his left hand and poured a generous amount of water into the pot.

 _Of course he uses a glass bottle_. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Might not save it, but it’s a good start.”

Crowley’s nostrils flared.

“I don’t need someone to fix me,” Crowley spat. It was one thing for Dean trick him, to use him for _whatever_ , Crowley hadn’t figured out what yet, but it was a whole other thing for him to interfere with the plant.

“I’m not trying to fix you.” Dean was wide-eyed. “I… I’ve just really liked getting to know you.” His voice was trembling. “I… feel alive when I’m around you. Like you get me. Where’s all this coming from?”

It was worse somehow. The heartache and the hangover, the fact he’d been so close to the cusp of _something_. All of it came together to make things worse. He’d spent his summer living in a fantasy world.

“That is a very convincing cover story. Did you and _Stephen_ think it up in bed one night?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you just admit it?”

“There’s nothing to admit, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you two, the other day, with your parents.”

“What were you – no, that doesn’t matter. So what?”

“You looked remarkably friendly for a couple in the midst of a brutal divorce.”

“It’s hardly _brutal_ , I’m just not handling things well. If you really want to know… I… well, hadn’t told my folks I was separated from Stephen. Apparently they got worried and thought I was avoiding them. Then I told them I wasn’t going to be back for Thanksgiving. I lied and said Stephen was going away on business and I was going on a trip, um, by myself. So they freaked out and flew in, okay? We had a long talk and it’s all sorted.

“Jesus,” Dean ran his hands through his hair and adjusted the band across his forehead. “I thought you were just pissed off and ignoring me because you found out I’d been keeping dog treats on me. But I just wanted Juliet to like me.”

Crowley was too drunk/hungover/miserable to really focus on that issue concurrently with his own raging emotions.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were meeting with him if it was all so innocent?”

“I didn’t realize I had to.”

It was a fair answer. Dean was his own man, very much his own man. He didn’t have to answer to Crowley. Crowley wouldn’t _want_ Dean to answer to him.

“I told you, I’m never getting back together with him. We’re done, very much done. The divorce will be finalized very soon,” Dean said firmly.

Crowley hadn’t got too far in his research into their intent. The fact he was still listening to Dean and hadn’t kicked him out said something.

 _Like the fact I’m a fool?_ And wasn’t that the kicker, when it came to the end of it: not that he’d loved, but that he’d loved so easily.

“You want to know the truth about me and Stephen?” Dean was pacing now, voice slowly getting louder. “No one back home ever thought we should get together. They all assumed he’d brainwashed me or _something_.” Dean flung his arms out. “The reason I don’t seem to have any friends is because they all turned their back on me for wanting to be with him. But he was there for me, and, and,” he sighed.

“I spent my childhood constantly anxious I was going to kill my dad if I didn’t have every little thing under control. We weren’t poor, but we weren’t exactly rich enough to have luxuries. Then I met Stephen and life got easier, I got to _breathe_. But no one cared about that. I didn’t grow up to be what they thought I’d be, apparently. Things happened and my family finally came around, accepted the marriage, but no one else did. He’s all I’ve had for so long. Do you know what it’s like to give up everything you thought your life might be for the promise of something better?”

Crowley did, but this was hardly the time to talk about the night he committed his last murder. Or at least, what he hoped would be his last murder.

“I told you my dad needed a kidney transplant few years back? Stephen saved him. He saved my dad's life, donated a kidney. I can't just cut him out of my life, he gave me my family back. My life back. I can’t ever fully repay him for that. I want to remain friends with him, but nothing more. It’s been shit thinking I had to hide everything. My parents know now, and that’s the important thing. I can go back to finding normal. And I want to do that with you, if you’ll let me.”

“Oh.” What more was there to say? So that’s why Dean’s parents seemed to be okay with their son marrying the strange, stiff Englishman.

Crowley’s mind was sifting through Dean’s words and he got stuck on one thing: _Transference._ Dean had married a man who saved his dad’s life.

“I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, Crowley. You need to learn that. So kick me out if you want, say you’re done and I’ll leave right now and won’t darken your doorstep again, but don’t do it because you think I’m cheating on you – I’m not and I won’t.”

“I want you to stay.” The echo of his heartbreak was pulsing behind his eyes, warping his chest. But he could make the pain go away just by believing. “I’m not done.”

“Then no offense, but you look like crap.” Dean looked at him tentatively, walking forward and softly cupped Crowley’s chin in his hand. “How about I come over to your place and cook you dinner? Then I can make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”

It felt a lot like _I’m sorry you’re in pain_.

“You can’t cook.” Crowley had learned that the hard way. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I should have said something.” Keeping secrets, keeping silent, that was just the default in his life. And if things went wrong? You cut off the gangrenous parts and moved on.

“We can order pizza?”

“Carbs on a Wednesday?”

“I know a place that does pizza with a cauliflower base, I swear you’ll never know the difference.” Dean was smiling now, his eyes pleading Crowley to just let them be _them_.

Crowley suddenly needed him. Needed to taste Dean with an intensity he’d never felt before. Needed to reconnect with Dean physically. He stood and made his way over to Dean where he silently but fiercely kissed him deeply, fingers firm on Dean’s shoulders before his hands started to rove elsewhere.

His hands were firmly planted on Dean’s ass by the time Dean sat down on top of Crowley’s desk. Crowley moved his hands away so his fingers wouldn’t be caught and set about stripping Dean of his shirt. The sweatband on Dean’s head went flying as his shirt came off.

“I thought you were fucking with me, using me,” Crowley admitted in a lusty rasp, kissing and rutting against Dean’s inner thigh. The desk it turned out was the perfect height to bring them together. He ran his tongue over Dean’s one-day old stubble, enjoying the texture. It felt easier to say this, easier to admit his weakness when he had Dean in his arms.

Dean drew back to look Crowley directly in the eye. “I’d _never_ do something like that to you. This is all me. My only motivation right now, and for the foreseeable hour, I swear,” he kissed Crowley again, “is to get into your pants.”

Dean slipped a hand down Crowley’s pants and under the elastic of his underwear, hand searching for Crowley’s cock. Crowley groaned as Dean’s hand reached its target. He sought out Dean’s cock and let that spring free from over the little red shorts he’d bunched down but not completely taken off. Crowley stepped closer to the desk and dragged Dean closer to the edge so they could align their hard cocks.

“And then after this next hour, my only motivation,” Dean let out a deep groan. He leaned himself back on his elbows watching on as Crowley softly stroked both of them with. “My only motivation is to make you happy. Make myself happy.”

Crowley nodded mutely and reached with his left hand for his draw to grab the lotion he knew was in there. A few squirts later he laced his fingers together and encased their cocks with his hands, squeezing and stroking up and down, up and down. He knew he was getting lotion on his pants and shirt, but he didn’t care.

All the clutter that had been on his desk prior to Dean’s arrival was no longer there and Crowley’s memory was already fuzzy as to where it had gone. The floor seemed the most likely possibility, but that was very much an issue for future Crowley to deal with.

His looming hangover was making things a little slower than he’d like, but Dean didn’t seem to mind. Dean hummed happily as he watched the going ons.

“You’re a lot bigger than me,” Dean sighed contentedly.

“Uh-huh,” Crowley agreed. “You like that though, don’t you?” he smirked. “Like that I’ve got a gigantic cock.”

“No idea what you mean.” Dean’s lower muscles were tensing up.

“Aha, sure, sure.” Crowley kept up the rhythm, willing himself to just enjoy the moment and not over think things.

Crowley rather enjoyed being the one controlling things, the speed, the tension, the twists. Not that Dean wasn’t good with a dick, but Crowley had mastered the art. If the noises Dean made when they were together like this were any indication, Dean would probably agree with Crowley’s self assessment.

With a few determined, firmer strokes, they were both soon falling over the edge. Dean laid back fully on the desk, head hanging off the other side, panting for a moment. Crowley moved so he could sit down on his chair, blinking with mild confusion that seemed to always set in after an intense orgasm.

A bed would have been nice. For their first ever bought of make-up sex, Crowley was pretty pleased with how it had gone though. He offered Dean a wad of paper napkins to wipe himself down with.

“I’m free for the rest of the day, how about you?” Dean announced.

Considering Crowley’s only goal that morning had been to find incriminating evidence on Dean, he suddenly found himself also free.

“Back to mine for pizza? You did promise me pizza, like actual pizza.”

“I could go for pizza,” Dean agreed.

*******

Dean, it turned out, had ran to Crowley’s office, though it was several miles off his normal jogging route. They both got into Crowley’s car and started the short drive back to his apartment.

"Sam told me what you found out about Madison. The drug problem, that sucks."

Crowley made a non-committal sound.

“But I’m sure you don’t want to talk about a work case with me.”

 _Nope._ He didn’t have to say it, didn’t have to say a word. Dean just understood and let the subject drop.

“I was thinking… next time you need to put Juliet in a kennel, how about I look after her? If you’d like.”

Crowley’s mind went blank a moment and he nearly forgot his turn signal for the approach to his street.

“I think I’d like that. I think she’d like that.”

“Phew,” Dean breathed out. “It’s been on my mind to offer, just didn’t know how you’d feel about it. I think I like having a dog. We had one for a bit when I was a kid. My sister, Jo, she...” Dean trailed off. His head spun around so he could look out of the back window.

“Is that...”

“What?” Crowley prompted.

“Nothing. Nothing, I’m being paranoid.”

Crowley pulled up into his parking space.

“You’re sure?”

Dean flashed a smile. “Yeah, really. It was nothing. Let’s go on in and get this pizza party started!” He got out of the car and Crowley followed.

“Oh Juliet, but soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” Dean quoted as they approached the building’s main entrance doors. “It is the east and Juliet is the sun!”

“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief,” Crowley finished for him, punching in the code to the main doors. “That was the reason I named her Juliet.”

“Really? Huh. Dumb play. Teenage angst, boo-hoo, but you can’t argue with the beauty of the words,” Dean said as they walked into the main entrance hall of Crowley’s building.

“Mr. Crowley!” Number Four called out soon as he stepped inside. She must have been waiting for them. “Oh, Mr. Crowley. I hope Juliet is okay?”

“She’s good thank you,” _Ms… something, Ms. Number Four._ Crowley thought again how he should really learn her name.

Her hands were clutching at her necklace. “That is a relief. I was worried when I saw those gentlemen carrying her out. I didn’t even realise the veterinarian's office did pick-ups now.”

“Pick-ups?” he asked slowly. “What do you mean?”

“Twenty or so minutes ago? They were carrying her out in one of those travelling boxes, two strong men, and when they said she was going to the animal hospital for–”

“Fuck!” Dean hissed and ran outside.

Crowley spared a look for Number Four and chased after Dean.

“I thought I recognized that van!” He shouted to Crowley as he sprinted down the street. “FUCK!” Dean shouted as he came to a stop. “It’s not there!”

Crowley turned tail and ran as fast as he could back into the building. Jamming a finger at the elevator call button, he contemplated if he should take the stairs instead.

The doors finally opened and he ran in and started to rapidly press the door close button. Dean joined him before the doors fully shut.

“Whose van was it?”

“An associate of Stephen’s. Nasty paint job, I’d recognize it anywhere.”

Crowley filed this in the back of his mind.

The door of his apartment was open, forced open by a ramming device from the looks of things. Half the door frame was off as a result.

It appeared none of his neighbors had thought it odd strangers had forced their way into his home.

The apartment itself wasn’t trashed, but someone had clearly gone through it. Draws were open, papers everywhere. His television was still in place though and on its stand.

“JULIET!” Crowley called out. “JULIET!”

She wasn’t there, just like he knew she wouldn’t be there.

Fear turned to anger. Anger turned to ice flowing through his veins.

Whoever had done this, who ever had taken her, they were going to pay.

“I’m going to see Stephen, see if he has an address for that guy,” Dean told Crowley.

Crowley nodded vaguely in Dean’s direction, not really paying him any attention. In his mind he was planning who he needed to contact first. Charlie seemed the logical option, to help him hack into the local traffic information. Juliet was his companion and he would be the one to find her.

“I’ll be back soon,” Dean reassured him.

This didn’t feel like it had last time he’d come home to find her missing. He didn't feel helpless and confused. This time around he had a plan of action to follow and a taste for vengeance on his tongue. 

“Call me if you need anything,” Dean told him.

Crowley nodded. “I have some phone calls to make,” he said, brushing Dean off. After all, nothing else mattered except for getting Juliet back.

*******

Crowley had an address. It had only taken him two hours to track the van owner’s address. He’d then used this and some of Charlie’s help to confirm who lived there by hacking online utility bills. He’d tracked down the owner’s associates, their addresses, family members, anything and everything that he’d need find where Juliet might be.

He needed a gun. Or at least something that _looked_ like a gun. Logically he knew he wasn’t thinking right, that marching straight into someone’s home to get his dog back was one of the down-right dumbest things he’d ever done. What other choice did he have?

There was a wad of money in his jacket pocket which should be – _had to be –_ enough to get him what he needed for protection.

Crowley felt eerily calm as he traveled down to the ground floor. Perhaps it was all the recent upheaval in his life. All the drama brought on by Dean – Dean, oh. Dean who he shouldn’t even be thinking of. Too much of a distraction in those thoughts.

Crowley was nearly at his car when he saw it, saw _the van_. The one that had raced away with Juliet in the back of it. Quick as he could he went into the trunk of his car and grabbed the crowbar he kept in there just in case he ever needed it for his work. Normally it was for breaking into places to search, but often it was as a means of protection.

Crowbar in hand he walked right up to the van and pulled open the driver’s side door. It was a dumb move, he’d later reflect. A very, very dumb move. The van could have been filled with people, they could have been back to get him. They could have been armed.

“Dean?” Crowley let his arm with the crowbar in it drop back to his side.

“I’ve got to go,” Dean said to the person he was talking to on the phone before ending the call. He swung around and jumped out of the van.

“I was about to come get you. She’s in the back, sleeping hopefully. They drugged her with something, but, she’s in the back,” he confirmed. Dean’s lip was split and he had an abrasion above his eye as well. Still in his workout gear, Crowley could also see Dean’s legs and arms were covered in bruises. Crowley didn’t have time though to think about that as he was too busy working out the mechanism to open the back doors.

“Juliet!” he called into the van, scrambling in himself. She was in there, asleep just as Dean said.

“Oh, Juliet love,” Crowley’s voice broke. He knelt down next to her. He laid his palm on her chest just to feel it move up and down, confirming through touch that she was at least still breathing.

Listlessly Juliet picked her head up at Crowley’s voice and let out a little whimper.

Dean was standing behind him explaining something, explaining how he found her, but Crowley’s brain was tuning out everything except for Juliet before him.

“Why?” Crowley interrupted. “Why was she taken?”

Dean was silent.

“Why was she taken?” Crowley growled through clenched teeth, Dean’s hesitance told Crowley something already.

“He saw us, saw us kissing back in June. And he’s been watching us ever since.”

“Your husband had them take her?”

“He’s not–” Dean broke off and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of this.”

With Juliet there beside him and Dean’s face bruised and battered, Crowley dug down deep and the only response he had for Dean was: “We're okay, and that's what's important, right?”

Whatever happened, and he would get the full story from Dean later, it would be okay. Mr. Arawn he could deal with. Crowley had already decided on that. Sure, action against the man promised a future of shit for a while, but Crowley had enough time to think through everything while tracking down the addresses he’d been planning to raid.

Dean smiled at him, wincing as the movement stretched the cut on his lip. “You really love her, don’t you?”

“She’s been my everything.” He went back to stroking her. “I’ll need some help to get her inside, assuming we shouldn’t be running from whoever owns this hunk of junk?”

“He won’t be bother you,” Dean said firmly. “You might be better off at a hotel for the next few nights though.”

“Stephen Arawn doesn’t scare me, Dean. I’m going home, with my dog.”

“He should though.”

“He doesn’t,” Crowley hissed. “I’ve dealt with worse than him.”

Dean nodded mutely and after a little while helped Crowley prop up a still sleepy Juliet. The tranquillizers she’d been given to get her peacefully out of the building would leave her system soon, and until then Crowley intended to keep a close eye on her.

When they had her back to Crowley’s place at last, he led her to bed before throwing a blanket over her body.

“I’m the worst thing that could ever of happened to you.” Dean stood with his head downcast on the other side of the room to Juliet and Crowley.

“My father locked me in a basement for three days when I was six. He got his kicks out of torturing me for years, always telling me it would make me stronger, fiercer,” Crowley’s voice cracked. “So you don’t get to tell me that.”

“I…” Dean clenched his fists, at a loss for how to reply to this new information.

“Yeah, this is fucked up. But I’m not letting him win, Dean. He’s not going to frighten me off.”

“I’m just going to lead to a life of misery for you, Crowley. Stephen is a dangerous man. He’s kept me out of most of his activities, and I’ve always known that. You don’t deserve it. You’re better off without me in your life. Better off forgetting me and letting me rot alone.”

“You don’t trust me?” It was Dean’s lack of faith that was making Crowley feel angry now. Dean was a victim in all this as well, in his own way. Swept up when he was still so young by a man who had promised him a shiny, glittery future.

“I don’t know if I want to keep fighting. So long as I’m here, so close to Stephen, even after the divorce… he’s going to be within touching distance. I’ve been a fool and misunderstood him. I’m going to leave town, I think. You can get your life back together and Juliet will be safe.”

“Dean,” Crowley’s voice caught in his throat.

It had been too much too quickly. First thinking Dean was lying to him, using him, now finding out he was being dumped.

“I’ve been thinking about this hard for the last hour, Crowley and–”

“Oh, a whole hour? Fine then. Go on, see if I care.” Crowley strolled off towards the kitchen not wishing to look at Dean any longer. Why fight it? Dean didn’t want to be there. Maybe Dean was right.

_I am better off without him._

_Cut off the limb before it sickens the rest of the body_.

“Take care of your dad, Juliet,” Crowley heard Dean say to her before the main door was gently shut.

_How did we go from fucking in my office to this?_

Crowley poured himself a glassful of bourbon, hand shaking with emotions too fluctuating to name individually.

There was some satisfaction in the smash of the glass against his kitchen floor. Bourbon pooled over the linoleum, splashed up the bottom of his pants and also splattered the kitchen cabinets.

 _It’ll be_ _W_ _inter soon. Where_ _did_ _the_ _Fall_ _go? Where did the Summer go?_

His footsteps crunched on the glass as he walked across the kitchen to grab his phone. The glass was probably embedded in his shoes. He’d definitely have to clean it up before Juliet was up on her feet again.

Crowley had one option. An option he’d previously discarded, but after the 24 hours he’d just had… Crowley didn’t like anyone controlling his life. Stephen Arawn had to be stopped. Had to be erased from history. They shouldn’t have gone after Juliet.

_Arawn shouldn’t have made Dean leave._

“Aunt Amara?” he asked down the phone once she’d picked up.

_What else do I have left to lose?_

*******

“R.I.P,” Crowley intoned as he finally threw the dead spider plant into the trash. He’d tidied up his office just in case he never made it back. Juliet was safe with his neigbor, Number Four. She’d be sure to keep his darling safe if things went pear-shaped.

Even with Aunt Amara’s help it had taken Crowley two weeks to get the information he needed. He’d lost Dean, but that was okay.

_You know when people start insisting on things enough, you know they’re lying… except me, I’m fine._

_I didn’t see because I didn’t want to see,_ Crowley thought to himself several times during the drive.

He parked up outside of Mr. Arawn’s sprawling, lavish house and got out, gun well-hidden under his jacket. The house was large, but it didn’t take long for Crowley to find the side gate into the garden. Access was easy with the key he’d paid the pool boy for a copy of.

_You should be more careful how you treat your minimum-wage workers, Mr. Arawn._

The pool was right in front of him once he’d entered the garden, with the main house in the distance to the right.

“Dean?” Crowley gasped.

Dean was sat on a sunbather by the edge of the pool a few yards ahead of Crowley. He had his back to Crowley and seemed unaware of the new visitor. Crowley found himself walking closer. Closer to Dean.

 _Probably trying to make good the unseasonably warm Fall day,_ Crowley assumed.

Dean turned at Crowley’s voice.

_Oh._

Not Dean.

“You have a type,” Crowley observed.

Mr. Arawn approached bearing a tray on which was sat a jug of lemonade and two glasses.

“Do I? Hums. Eliot, be a dear and fetch another glass from the kitchen for me? I’m sure Mr Crowley here is quite parched.” He sat down on the lounger his new play thing had been sat on while Eliot, wearing just a pair of tiny briefs, walked off as directed.

“He left, Dean left because of you.” Crowley felt the shape of the gun through his pocket, calming himself. There was probably security guards on the property. He couldn’t find out exactly how many worked at any one time, unfortunately.

“In fact, he only left yesterday morning. He resigned from his job but worked out his notice period first. Diligent even in his childishness.”

Of course Arawn had known that. Crowley had discovered amongst everything that Mr. Arawn had known Dean’s boss Zachariah for years.

“You’re why he’s leaving,” Crowley told him.

“He’s over reacting.”

 _To you harassing him? Hardly._ Crowley longed to say but didn’t dare. That wasn’t the way he’d planned this conversation out.

“You stole my dog.”

“Ah… yes, that was petty of me. I was a little curious what you’d be like in times of stress.” Mr. Arawn sat back on the lounger. He was dressed casually for him. A white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black pants. “It’s a shame, almost. I thought you were perfect. No attachment to anything or anyone. And then I discovered that little weakness.”

“You were jealous, don’t be glib. You wanted to get in the way of what I was building with Dean. Don’t try and make out like this was some sort of a test,” Crowley spat.

“Can’t it be both?” Mr. Arawn pulled a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on, looking for all intents like he might be preparing to take a nap.

“So what now, Mr. Crowley? Here to say good bye before you run off after Dean? I don’t feel like you’re here to shoot me or you would have done it on sight.”

Crowley had been thinking this over. Thinking every detail over.

“I’m not here to kill you,” he confirmed. Despite the preparation, despite finally buying a gun. He didn’t intend to kill the other man.

For too long he’d ran from his life. From the world he’d grown up in. There was, after all, more than one way to defeat the devil. To neutralise him.

“I’m here to make you an offer.”

“After protection from your mother? I hear she’s getting early release. Though I have no idea what you might have to offer me in return.”

Crowley had known that about Rowena, luckily. Aunt Amara had been a font of knowledge on the actions of her ex-sister in law. It had somewhat informed Crowley’s actions.

“Invest in my business and I don’t turn you in. We’d be partners so I’d only be screwing myself over if I did. And in addition, I want 2% of your imports business.” Most of the money this man made was through imports and exports. That had been the first thing Crowley had discovered in his research phase.

“My dear man,” Stephen chuckled. “Why would I worry about the authorities? I invite you to consider how small I find you, Mr. Crowl–”

“Not to the authorities,” Crowley interjected. “To Dean.”

Mr. Arawn lifted his sunglasses down to the end of his nose so he could look over them at Crowley. “Dean is not all that innocent. I’ll have you know, the first time I ever met him, he had hidden himself in my office and then held a knife to my throat the moment I stepped in the door.” He chuckled merrily as if this was some funny joke to him.

That was something Crowley needed to look into later. Crowley thought back to the way Dean had been scrapped up in rescuing Juliet.

 _He’s fiercer than he looks_.

“Stephen, if I may call you that? Or do you prefer Julian? Or perhaps,” Crowley paused, “The Angel of Mercy? So many names over the years. Though I do believe you were still going by _Death_ the night you murdered Dean’s biological parents.”

That cracked Arawn’s smile.

“My, my. You are serious. And how much to buy your silence? Though I would like it noted: I did not kill them myself, if that matters at all. I was there when they passed, granted.”

“I’m not asking for a bribe or blackmailing you. I mean it, we should partner up. My agency could use a boost in capital and in return I’ll keep my silence on that matter and offer you a discount rate for my services.”

_Keep your friends close and your enemies closer._

One of the hardest pills to swallow before he’d come up with this plan was the realization that he couldn’t afford financially or psychologically to be fighting on two sides: Stephen and his mother, whenever she cropped up again.

He’d done the math. Two million would be a drop in the ocean for someone with Mr. Arawn’s wealth. Crowley could then hire Charlie on full time, buy a large house with a garden, buy enough favors to protect against his mother. It would also give him some capital for whatever future task his aunt asked of him.

“And in addition, I’ll give you information you don’t even know you need. Find the lose ends you didn’t even know you needed cleaned up. Or, you can turn down my very generous offer and I can tell Dean what I found out.”

“He’s hardly going to stab me,” Stephen said after some consideration. “He might be angry, but I assure you that isn’t the full story.”

One thing Crowley had learned from his years of active gambling addiction: the house always wins.

Only way to be sure win was to become the house.

“How do you think he’d react if I offered him a shoulder to cry on? Tell him about his poor parents’ deaths. I could also introduce him to the side of my family that’s been waiting for me to return. The side that despises my mother so much already they want me back to keep her at bay.”

“You’re just boring me now, Mr. Crowley.”

Crowley swallowed, but he wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t going to take crap from this man any longer.

“Dean told me you gave his father a kidney and that was why he fell for you. I have my own suspicion that you still have both your kidneys. Nothing in your medical records backs up the idea that you ever had one removed. What sort of hurt would that betrayal cause, that you lied to him for years?”

“Don’t worry, the donor was well compensated.”

“I hadn’t, but that’s nice to know.”

“A word of advice if this is really where you intend to go to: Dean’s very protective of his family, you would be shocked how much he might be prepared to overlook for them. He’s never questioned why I don’t have a scar on my back, you know.”

It wasn’t a shock to Crowley, he’d assumed there was a possibility Dean knew his ex-husband hadn’t been the one to donate the kidney.

“What’s to stop me from just killing you, Mr. Crowley? That would keep you away from Dean for good, wouldn’t you agree?”

Threatening Mr. Arawn _with_ Dean wasn’t going to work. But that was fine, Crowley had many other options still available to him.

“And when you’re finally gone, who will look after Dean then?” Crowley tried. “How will Dean cope without your protection? You clearly want to keep him close to keep him safe, which you can’t do when he’s willing to throw away his life just to get away from you. And the one person you’ve ever fully trusted has just left because you were interfering with his new relationship. You have no one you can trust, Mr. Arawn, no way to secure the future of your own company. You need someone who will carry on with your vision after you pass.

“Your children despise you, Dean told me as much. Your second-in-command, Billie? Do you really want her to inherit everything you built? I’m sure she’s good at what she does, but is she as bloodthirsty as you? You know who I am, you know what I am. You must see how a relationship between me and Dean can only help you in the future?”

Mr. Arawn gave a resigned sigh and sat back up, taking the sunglasses off. He studied Crowley for a while before speaking.

“Dean’s driving out to Sioux Falls. He hates to fly. If you were to board the evening flight today, you’d probably beat him there. Big, dramatic gestures are his thing, despite his protestations.”

That was the key then, threaten the company. Threaten whatever future plans he’d had in mind for the company.

“Tell him I give in, you win. I won’t go near you or your dog again. And if you really want a business partnership? Then fine, fine. Bring Dean back here, I’ll leave you both alone.”

Crowley had to give some credit to Dean’s ex, he knew Dean well. He knew Dean so well. They’d shared everything after all.

The final piece of the puzzle slipped into place.

“You knew he was leaving you,” Crowley said slowly. “It wasn’t a shock at all. And you knew he wasn't having an affair.”

That was the only thing that made sense to solve the riddle he kept telling his subconscious was already solved. His subconscious had apparently not listened to him though.

“Yes,” Mr. Arawn confirmed without hesitation. 

“You really were testing me.”

“Dean and I agreed to something fixed term. We knew in advance we’d eventually separate. But we enjoyed each other’s companionship so it was hardly an arduous task. Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“So hiring me was… insurance? To see what could be found out about you two and your arrangement.”

“A test to see how honest and effective you’d be. I was impressed and recommended you to some friends. They’ve been impressed. No job too small, no stone unturned. No matter how nasty things might get, you always achieve the task, Mr. Crowley. You presented me with information even _I_ didn’t know in regards to Dean’s desire to start a family. That was impressive.”

“Except I never saw the truth about you. You flooded me with information, dangled Dean in front of me so I didn’t even see you were a threat.”

A feeling of sickness crept back in. _Was Dean a plant all along?_

“I dangled nothing of the sort,” he shot Crowley a scathing look. “I don’t tell Dean what to do, no one does. He seems happy with you though, more willing to listen. I wasn’t joking about the evening flight, I’m sure he would love being surprised. And let him know I’m done interfering. Go forth, you have my blessing. I need someone to keep him safe, so why not you.”

Crowley observed Mr. Arawn, trying to see if there was any feeling of trickery.

He’d killed Dean’s parents – or at least had a hand in their death, and that was just a drop in the ocean for the deaths Mr. Arawn had been somehow involved in.

Crowley wasn’t stupid enough to reveal the full breadth of knowledge he now had on Stephen Arawn, which included the applications from the year’s internship when Dean had applied to Mr. Arawn’s company. Dean’s application had paled compared to some of the others, indicating there was another reason why he had been selected out of all those who applied that year. Crowley thought he would only need two guesses to figure out why Dean had been selected.

_Just how much can a four-year-old remember?_

But one thing at a time.

“And the deal?” Crowley prompted. “Your lawyers can draw up a formal agreement, I’m sure.”

“Yes, yes, we’ll deal with all of that. If we’re business partners we should be able to keep things civil between us, I suppose.”

Crowley realized in that moment that following the deal he’d be a millionaire. He might even consider upgrading on his flight out to South Dakota – if he did go.

Crowley nodded. “We can be powerful allies, Mr. Arawn, I see no reason for us to fight. You know what I can do, I know what you can do. Doesn’t it make sense for us to be working together?”

“Call me Julian, most of my friends do. And that is what we are now, correct?”

“I’m sure we’ll have a fruitful relationship,” Crowley smirked, walking forwards to grasp the other man’s hand. Neither of them blinked for the duration of the handshake.

 _Crowl_ _e_ _y the English Millionaire Investigator,_ he reflected to himself on his walk back to his car.

_Is it crass to have that printed on my business cards?_

But it wasn’t quite right, not after all these years.

 _Crowley the_ _American_ _Millionaire Investigator_  though – that had a nice ring to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done, woo! The ending was very different in the original drafts, but it just didn't seem to fit Crowley. Initially he blackmails Death (now called Death very much in my mind) into paying him a million dollars, and then Crowley flees leaving Dean and the town behind him. Also originally he turned up to the house and Dean was there with Stephen. My favourite noir tradition is "the detective is hired to investigate things the client already knows to see if the outside world can figure it out".
> 
> But that just didn't seem to fit right, the betrayal and the blackmail didn't feel right. Crowley's about making deals, finding a way to survive when others would flee. It sucked losing the ending as I really wanted Crowley to tell Death to go fuck himself, ah well. That's the spirit of Crowley finding a way to control him instead. 
> 
> When I first plotted it through Juliet did get kidnapped at the end of Chapter 2, but that just did not make sense in terms of the timeline as Crowley and Dean hadn't been together for long enough for the rest of the plot to play out. So instead you got a fake out, and then later the real thing. I just hope I didn't ping things too much on everyone else loving (even just fictional) dogs as much as I do, gulp. Juliet is based on a real Great Dane that I know who my dog loves playing with, which was how she ended up becoming a Great Dane over another breed. 
> 
> Quietly in my mind as I was concluding this fic I ended up titling a prospective sequel: "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)"
> 
> _Crowley's mother is out for revenge but he has bigger things to deal with. A new partnership with an illicit businessman known to many as Death, an angry, maniacal aunt and, oh, he still needs to win back the man he'd fallen for and encourage him to come home. Oh yeah, Crowley was about to have a fun winter._
> 
>  
> 
> I can't say if I'm ever going to write it, but I'm very pro-happy ending so we can all assume that it would get to that point eventually. I hope this ending here didn't feel rushed or out of the ordinary. The fic was never really about Dean in my mind, it was at its heart about Crowley and Death. I know some people were worried Dean was messing with Crowley -- he wasn't, surprise! Crowley's always gonna have the upper hand. And Death thinking Dean would never stab him out of revenge? Hums...

**Author's Note:**

> Hehe I've wanted to write one of the pairings I'm including here for years. 
> 
> Written for spncoldesthits, because of course! I've wanted to write in the It's a Terrible Life universe for a while. Dean Smith is one of my favourite things in the show. 
> 
> We had to pick from a selection of titles this month. I saw this one and instantly thought of Crowley being a detective. 1+4 = whatever mess this is going to be. 
> 
> It isn't quite finished but very nearly. I'm not expecting the total fic to go over 21K words... but we all know how that kind of thinking ends. 
> 
> Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr! I'm [perfackles](http://www.perfackles.tumblr.com/) for anything Supernatural related. 
> 
> Or my general/personal account [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/).


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